y 



^ 'i 



JOAN OF ARC 



Books By Laura E.Richards 

Joan of Arc 

A Daughter of Jehu 

Abigail Adams and Her Times 

Pippin 

Elizabeth Fry 

Florence Nightingale 

Mrs. Tree 

Mrs. Tree's Will 

Miss Jimmy 

The Wooing of Calvin Parks 

Journal and Letters of Samuel 

Gridley Howe 
Two Noble Lives 
Captain January 
A Happy Little Time 
When I Was Your Age 
Five Minute Stories 
In My Nursery 
The Golden Windows 
The Silver Crown 
The Joyous Story of Toto 
The Life of Julia Ward Howe 

With Maud Howe Elliott, 
Etc., etc. 



209D 




Joan of Arc 



JOAN OF ARC 



BY 



LAURA E. RICHARDS 

AUTHOR OF "FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE," "ABIGAIL ADAMS 
AND HER TIMES," "ELIZABETH FRY,'! ETC 




D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1919 



^^^' •■ fCst>^^^^ 






COPYRIGHT, 1 91 9, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



^tr lb 1919 



TOINTED IN THE TTKITED STATES OF AlttRtCfl 



fan: af;30791 



TO 

THE MEMORY OF 

THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

••ALSO A SOLDIER" 



The extracts from "Joan of Arc," by Francis C. Lowell, 
are used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. 

Selections from "The Maid of France," by Andrew 
Lang, are used by permission of Messrs. Longmans, 
Green & Co. 

Theodosia Garrison's poem, "The Soul of Jeanne 
d*Arc," is reproduced by permission of Chas. Scribner's 
Sons. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTEB FAOB 

I. France Imperishable ....•.! 
II. The Lion and the Lilies 19 

III. DOMR^MY 32 

IV. Grapes of Wrath 46 

V. The Voices 57 

VI. The Empty Throne 69 

VII. Vaucouleurs and Chinon 83 

VIII. Recognition 100 

IX. Orleans 117 

X. The Relief 132 

XI. The Deliverance 142 

XII. The Week of Victories 163 

XIII. Rheims 181 

XIV. Paris 197 

XV. COMPIEGNE .•••••••. 214 

XVI. Rouen .... . . . ^ 7 . 239 



CHAPTER I 

FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

THE SOUL OF JEANNE D'ARC 

She came not into the Presence as a martyred saint 
might come, 
Crowned, white-robed and adoring, with very rerer- 
ence dumb — 
She stood as a straight young soldier, confident, gallant, 
strong. 
Who asks a boon of his captain in the sudden hush 
of the drum. 

She said: "Now have I stayed too long in this my place 
of bliss, 

With these glad dead that, comforted, forget what sor- 
row is 

Upon that world whose stony stair they climbed to come 
to this. 

"But lo, a cry hath torn the peace wherein so long I 

stayed. 
Like a trumpet's call at Heaven's wall from a herald 

unafraid, — 
A million voices in one cry, *Where is the Maid, the 

Maid?' 

I 



JOAN OF ARC 



"I had forgot from too much joy that olden task of mine, 
But I have heard a certain word shatter the chant divine, 
Have watched a banner glow and grow before mine eyes 
for sign. 

"I would return to that my land flung in the teeth of war, 
I would cast down my robe and crown that pleasure me 

no more, 
And don the armor that I knew, the valiant sword I bore. 

"And angels militant shall fling the gates of Heaven wide. 
And souls new-dead whose lives were shed like leaves on 

war's red tide 
Shall cross their swords above our heads and cheer us 

as we ride. 

"For with me goes that soldier saint, Saint Michael of 

the sword. 
And I shall ride on his right side, a page beside his lord. 
And men shall follow like swift blades to reap a suro 

reward. 

"Grant that I answer this my call, yea, though the end 

may be 
The naked shame, the biting flame, the last, long agony; 
I would go singing down that road where fagots wait 

for me. 

"Mine be the fire about my feet, the smoke above my 

head; 
So might I glow, a torch to show the path my heroes 

tread ; 
My Captain! Oh, my Captain, let me go hack!" she said. 

— Theodosia Garrison. 






FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

IN the fourth year of the Great War ( 1 9 1 8 ) , 
the sufferings of France, the immemorial 
battlefield of nations, were in all our hearts. 
We heard from time to time that France was 
**bled white''; that she had been injured past 
recovery; that she was dying. Students of 
History know better than this. France does 
not die. She bleeds; yes! she has bled, 
and stanched her wounds and gone gloriously 
on, and bled again, since the days when Gaul 
and Iberian, Kymrian and Phoenician, Hun 
and Goth, raged and fought to and fro over 
the patient fields of the ^'pleasant land." Ask 
Caesar and Vercingetorix, Attila and Theo- 
doric, Clovis and Charles the Hammer, if 
France can die, and hear their shadowy 
laughter! Wave after wave, sea upon sea, of 
blood and carnage, sweep over her; she re- 
mains imperishable. The sun of her day of 
glory never sets. 

Her darkest day, perhaps, was that against 
which her brightest flower shines white. In 
telling, however briefly, the story of Joan the 
Maid, it is necessary to call back that day, in 
some ways so like our own; to see what was 

3 



V 



JOAN OF ARC I 

the soil from which that flower sprang in al 
its radiant purity. 

The Hundred Years' War prepared the 
soil; ploughed and harrowed, burned and 
pulverized: that war which began in 1340 with 
Edward III. of England's assuming the title 
of King of France and quartering the French 
arms with those of England; which ended in 
1453 with the departure of the English from 
France, which they had meantime (In some 
part) ruled and harried. Their departure was 
due chiefly to the genius of a peasant girl of 
eighteen years. 

France in the fifteenth century: what was 
it like? 

King Charles VI. of France (to go back no 
further) whose reign Sully, "our own good 
Maximilian," calls "the grave of good laws 
and good morals in France," was not yet 
twelve years old when (In 1380) his father, 
Charles V., died. His majority had been fixed 
at fourteen, and for two years he was to re- 
main under the guardianship of his four uncles, 
the Dukes of Anjou, Berry, Burgundy and 
Bourbon. With the fourth, his mother's 
brother, we have no concern, for he made little 

4 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

trouble; the other three were instantly in dis- 
pute as to which should rule during the two 
years. 

The struggle was a brief one; Philip of 
Burgundy, surnamed the Bold, was by far the 
ablest of the three. When the young king 
was crowned at Rheims (October 4th, 1380), 
Philip, without a word to anyone, sat him 
down at his nephew's side, thus asserting him- 
self premier peer of France, a place which was 
to be held by him and his house for many a 
long day. 

At seventeen, Charles was married (in the 
Cathedral of Amiens, the second jewel of 
France, where that of Rheims was the first) to 
Isabel of Bavaria, of infamous memory; and 
the first shadows began to darken around him. 

The war with England was going on in a 
desultory fashion. Forty years had passed 
since Cregy. The Dukes of Lancaster and 
Gloucester, uncles and regents of Richard IL, 
the young English king, were not the men to 
press matters, and Charles V. of France was 
wise enough to let well alone. The young 
king, however, and his Uncle Philip of Bur- 
gundy, thought it would be a fine thing to land 

5 



JOAN OF ARC 






in England with a powerful army, and return 
the bitter compliments paid by Edward III. 
"Across the Channel!" was the cry, and prepa- 
rations were made on a grand scale. In 
September, 1386, thirteen hundred and eighty- 
seven vessels, large and small, were collected 
for the voyage; and Olivier de Clisson, Con- 
stable of France, built a wooden town which 
was to be transported to England and rebuilt 
after landing, "in such sort," says Froissart, 
"that the lords might lodge therein and retire 
at night, so as to be In safety from sudden 
awakenings, and sleep in security." Along the 
Flemish and Dutch coasts, vessels were loaded 
by torchlight with "hay in casks, biscuits In | 
sacks, onions, peas, beans, barley, oats, candles, 
gaiters, shoes, boots, spurs. Iron, nails, culinary 
utensils, and all things that can be used for the 
service of man."^ The Flemings and Hollanders 
demanded instant payment and good prices. 
"If you want us and our service," they said, 
"pay us on the nail; otherwise we will be 
neutral."'^ 

The king was all Impatience to embark, and 

*Guizot, "Popular History of France," III, p. 20. 
'Guizot, "Popular History of France," HI, p. 21. 

6 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

hung about his ship all day. "I am very eager 
to be off I" he would say. "I think I shall be 
a good sailor, for the sea does me no harm." 
One would have thought he was sailing round 
the world, instead of across the British Chan- 
nel. Unfortunately for the would-be navi- 
gator, the Duke of Berry, for whom he was 
waiting, was not eager to be off: did not want 
to go at all, in fact; answered Charles's urgent 
letters with advice "not to take any trouble, 
but to amuse himself, for the matter would 
probably terminate otherwise than was imag- 
ined."^ In mid-October, when the autumn 
storms were due. Uncle Berry appeared, and 
was met by reproaches. *'But for you, uncle," 
exclaimed Charles, "I should have been in 
England by this time. If anyone goes," he 
added, "I will." 

But no one went. 

" 'One day when it was calm,' says the monk 
of St. Denis, 'the king, completely armed, went 
with his uncles aboard of the royal vessel; but 
the wind did not permit them to get more than 
two miles out to sea, but drove them back to 
the shore they had just left in spite of the 
sailors' efforts. The king, who saw with deep 

7 



-~\ 



JOAN OF ARC 

displeasure his hopes thus frustrated, had 
orders given to his troops to go back, and at 
his departure, left, by the advice of his barons, 
some men-of-war to unload the fleet, and place 
it in a place of safety as soon as possible. But 
the enemy gave them no time to execute the 
order. As soon as the calm allowed the Eng- 
lish to set sail, they bore down on the French, 
burned or took in tow to their own ports the 
most part of the fleet, carried off the supplies, 
and found two thousands casks full of wine, 
which sufficed a long while for the wants of 
England.' " ^ 

Charles decided to let England alone for a 
while, and turned his thoughts elsewhere. He 
would visit Paris; he would make a Royal 
Progress through his dominions, would show 
himself king indeed, free from avuncular tram- 
mels. So said, so done. Paris received him 
with open arms; the king was good and gentle; 
people liked to see him passing along the 
street. He abated certain taxes, restored cer- 
tain liberties; hopes and gratulatlons were in 
the air. He lodged in his palace at St. Paul, 
that home of luxury and tragedy, with "its 

*Guizot, "Popular History of France," III, p. 21. 

8 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

great ordered library, its carved reading-desks, 
its carefully painted books, and the perfumed 
silence that turns reading into a feast of all 
the senses,'** that palace *'made for a time in 
which arms had passed from a game to a kind 
of cruel pageantry, and in which the search for 
beauty had ended in excess, and had made the 
decoration of life no longer ancillary to the 
main purpose of living, but an unconnected and 
insufficient end of itself." ^ 

In this palace of his own building, Charles 
V. had died. Here his son grew up, hand- 
some, amiable, flighty; here he brought his 
bride In the splendor of her then unsullied 
youth; here was born the prince for whom the 
Maid of France was to recover a lost kingdom. 

After frolicking awhile with his good people 
of Paris, Charles started once more on his 
travels, and for six months wandered happily 
and expensively through his kingdom. 

"When the king stopped anywhere, there 
were wanted for his own table, and for the 
maintenance of his following, six oxen, eighty 
sheep, thirty calves, seven hundred chickens, 
two hundred pigeons, and many other things 

^Belloc, "Paris," p. 248. 

9 



JOAN OF ARC 

besides. The expenses for the king were set 
down at two hundred and thirty livres a day, 
without counting the presents which the large 
towns felt bound to make him." ^ 

Wherever he went, he heard tales of the bad 
government of his uncles; listened, promised 
amendment; those uncles remaining the while 
at home in much disquiet of mind. As the 
event turned out, their anxiety was needless. 
Charles's tragic fate was even then closing 
about him, and the power was soon to be in 
their hands again. In June, 1392, Olivier de 
Clisson was waylaid after banqueting with the 
king at St. Paul, stabbed by Peter de Craon, 
a cousin of the Duke of Brittany, and left for 
dead. The news coming suddenly to the king 
threw him into great agitation; the sight of 
his servant and friend, bathed in blood, added 
to his discomposure. He vowed revenge and de- 
clared instant war on the Duke of Brittany. In 
vain the other uncles sought to quiet his fury; his 
only reply was to summon them and his troops 
to Le Mans, and start with them on the fatal 
inarch to Brittany. It was in the great forest 
of Le Mans that the curse of the Valois, long 

*Guizot, III, p. 22. 
10 



I 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

foreshadowed, if men had had eyes to see, 
came upon the unhappy king. The heat was 
excessive ; he was clad in heavy, clinging velvets 
and satins. He was twice startled, first by 
the appearance of a white-clad madman, who, 
springing out of the woods, grasped his horse 
by the bridle, crying, "Go no further! Thou 
art betrayed!" then by a sudden clash of steel, 
lance on helmet of a page overcome by the 
heat. At this harsh sound, the king was seen 
to shudder and crouch for an instant; then, 
drawing his sword and rising in his stirrups, 
he set spurs to his horse, crying, "Forward 
upon these traitors! They would deliver me 
up to the enemy!" He charged upon his ter- 
rified followers, who scattered in all directions. 
Several were wounded, and more than one 
actually killed by the king in his frenzy. None 
dared approach him; he rode furiously hither 
and thither, shouting and slashing, till when 
utterly exhausted, his chamberlain, William 
de Martel, was able to come up behind 
and throw his arms round the panting body. 
Charles was disarmed, lifted from his horse, 
laid on the ground. His brother and uncles 
hastened to him, but he did not recognize 

II 



JOAN OF ARC 

them ; his eyes were set, and he spoke no word. 

" *We must go back to Le Mans,* said the 
Dukes of Berry and Burgundy; *here is an end 
of the trip to Brittany.' 

"On the way they fell in with a wagon drawn 
by oxen: in this they laid the King of France, 
having bound him for fear of a renewal of 
his frenzy, and so took him back, motionless 
and speechless, to the town." ^ 

Thus began the agony which was to endure 
for thirty long years. There were lucid in- 
tervals, in which the poor king would beg 
pardon of all he might have injured in his 
frenzy: would ask to have his hunting-knife 
taken away, and cry to those about him, "If 
any of you, by I know not what witchcraft, be 
guilty of my sufferings, I adjure him in the 
name of Jesus Christ, to torment me no more, 
and to put an end to me forthwith without 
making me linger so." ^ 

He did not know his false, beautiful wife, 
but was in terror of her. "What woman is 
this?" he would say. "What does she want? 
Save me from her!" ^ 

At first every care was given him; but in 

* Guizot, III, p. 27. ^ Guizot, III, p. 28. 

12 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

1405, we find the poor soul being "fed like a 
dog, and allowed to fall ravenously upon his 
food. For five whole months he had not a 
change of clothes." ^ Finally someone was 
roused to shame and remorse at the piteous 
sight; he was washed, shaved, and decently 
clothed. It took twelve men to accomplish the 
task, but directly it was done, the poor soul 
became quiet, and even recognized some of 
those about him. Seeing Juvenal des Ursins, 
the Provost of Paris, he said, "Juvenal, let us 
not waste our time!" — surely one of the most 
piteous of recorded utterances. 

The gleams of reason were few and feeble. 
In one of them, the king (in 1402) put the 
government of the realm into the hands of his 
brother, Louis, Duke of Orleans: Burgundy 
took fire at once, and the fight was on, a fight 
which only our own day can parallel. 

We can but glance briefly at some of its 
principal features. In 1404 Philip the Bold 
of Burgundy (to whom we might apply Philip 
de Comines' verdict on Louis XL: "in fine, 
for a prince, not so bad!") died, and his son 
John the Fearless ruled in his stead. His 

*Guizot, III, p. 29.. 
13 



JOAN OF ARC 

reign began auspiciously. He Inclined to push 
the war with England; he went out of his 
way to visit his cousin of Orleans. The two 
princes dined together with the Duke of Berry; 
took the holy communion together, parted with 
mutual vows of friendship. Paris was edified, 
and hoped for days of joyful peace. A few 
nights after, as Orleans was returning from 
dining with Queen Isabel, about eight In the 
evening, singing and playing with his glove, 
he was set upon by a band of armed men, 
emissaries of Burgundy, and literally hacked 
to pieces. Now all was confusion. The 
poor king was told to be angry, and was furi- 
ous: sentenced Burgundy to all manner of 
penances, and banished him for twenty years. 
Unfortunately, Burgundy was at the moment 
preparing to enter Paris as a conqueror. 
Learning this, King, Queen, Dauphin and Court 
fled to Tours, and Burgundy found no one in 
Paris to conquer. This was awkward; the 
king's suffering person was still a necessary ad- 
junct toward ruling the kingdom. Burgundy 
made overtures; begged pardon; prayed "my 
lord of Orleans and my lords his brothers to 
banish from their hearts all hatred and ven- 

H 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

geance/' The king was bidden to forgive my 
lord of Burgundy, and obeyed. A treaty was 
made; peace was declared; the king returned, 
and all Paris went out to meet him, shouting, 
"NoSir 

This was in 1409; that same year, Charles 
of Orleans, son of the murdered duke, lost his 
wife, Isabel of France, daughter of the king. 
A year later he married Bonne d'Armagnac, 
daughter of Bernard of that name, a Count 
of Southern France, bold, ambitious, un- 
scrupulous. Count Bernard instantly took 
command of the Orleanist party, in the name 
of his son-in-law. He vowed revenge on 
Burgundy for the murder of Duke Louis, and 
called upon all good and true men to join his 
standard; thenceforward the party took his 
name, and Burgundian and Armagnac arrayed 
themselves against each other. 

Now indeed, the evil time came upon 
France. She was cut literally in twain by the 
opposing factions. The hatred between them 
was not only traditional, but racial. Burgundy 
gathered under his banner all the northern 
people, those who spoke the langue d'oil; in 
the south, where the langue d'oc was spoken, 

15 



JOAN OF ARC 

Gascon and Provengal flocked to the standard 
of Armagnac. Backward and forward over 
terrified France raged the ferocious soldiery. 
Count Bernard was a brutal savage, but he 
was a great captain. The Albrets and many 
another proud clan were ready to fight under 
his banner; the cause did not specially matter, 
so long as fighting and plunder were to be had. 
Among them, they formed the first infantry 
of France. Wherever they marched, terror 
ran before them. They summoned the peas- 
antry to bind on the white cross of Armagnac; 
he who refused lost arm, leg, or life itself, on 
the spot. This method of recruiting proved 
eminently successful, and the Count soon had 
a goodly army. 

John the Fearless of Burgundy ("who,'* 
says a French writer, *'might better have been 
called John the Pitiless, since the only fear he 
was without was that of God") was hardly 
less ferocious than his enemy. In one battle 
he slew some thousands of unarmed citizens: 
in another he massacred twenty-five thousand 
Armagnacs at one stroke. One would really 
think it had been the twentieth century instead 
of the fifteenth. 

i6 



FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 

Burgundy, cunning as well as ferocious, won 
over to his side first Queen Isabel, false as 
she was fair and frail; then the Kings of 
Sicily and Spain. Still seeking popularity, he 
besieged Calais, but was driven off by the 
English; finally he took possession of Paris and 
the king, and ruled both for a time with suc- 
cess and satisfaction. 

Both parties did homage to Henry IV. of 
England (i 399-1413), who took the provinces 
they offered and kept his own counsel. 

By and by there was trouble in Paris; the 
Butchers, a devout body, who carried axe or 
cleaver in one hand and rosary in the other, 
were scandalized by the dissolute habits of 
Louis the Dauphin and his followers; took it 
upon themselves to mend matters. They turned 
axe and cleaver upon the young courtiers; 
slew, tortured, imprisoned, at their will, with 
psalms and canticles on their lips. More- 
over, encouraged by Burgundy, their friend 
and patron, they preached daily to the 
Dauphin, and a Carmelite monk of their fol- 
lowing reproved him by the hour together. 
Bored and enraged, young Louis wrote to the 
Amtagnacs, begging them to deliver him. 

17 



JOAN OF ARC 

They rushed with joyous ferocity to the rescue. 
The Butchers were dispersed; Burgundy was 
forced to flee from Paris, leaving the jealously 
guarded person of the king in the hands of 
the enemy. The Orleanist princes entered 
Paris in triumph; everybody, everything, from 
the Dauphin himself to the images of Virgin 
and saints, was draped in the white scarf of 
the Armagnacs. 

In 1414 a peace was patched up: it was 
agreed that neither the white scarf nor Bur- 
gundy's cross should be worn. Nothing special 
was said about the murdering, which seems to 
have gone on none the less, albeit less openly. 

In 1 413 Henry (IV.) of Lancaster died, 
and Henry (V.) of Monmouth reigned in his 
stead. The day of desultory warfare was over. 
Unhappy France, bleeding at every pore from 
the blows of her own children, must now face 
the might of England, led by one of the world's 
greatest captains. Torn by factions, weak- 
ened by loss of blood, ridden first by one furi- 
ous free-booter and then another, what chance 
had she? Trembling, her people asked the 
question : the answer was Agincourt. 



18 



CHAPTER II 

THE LION AND THE LILIES 
"Fair stood the wind for France." — Michael Drayton. 

1 YIELD to no one in my love and admira- 
tion for Henry V. in his nobler aspects, 
but I am not writing his story now. He came 
to France, not as the debonair and joyous 
prince of our affections, but as a conqueror; 
came, he told the unhappy French, as the in- 
strument of God, to punish them for their sins. 
The phrase may have sounded less mocking 
then than it does to-day. France knew all 
about the sins; she had suffered under them, 
almost to death; it seemed hard that she must 
bear the punishment too. 

Neither John of Burgundy nor Bernard of 
Armagnac was at Agincourt. They hovered 
apart, two great eagles — or vultures, shall we 
say? — watching, ready to pounce when their 
moment struck. The battle lost and won, both 
chiefs made a dash for Paris and the king. 

19 



JOAN OF ARC 

Armagnac made the better speed; Burgundy 
arrived to find his enemy, with six thousand 
fierce Gascons, already in possession of the city, 
king and Dauphin both in his hands, and he 
self-constituted Constable of France, in lieu 
of Charles d'Albret, slain in the great battle. 

Savage though he was, Armagnac was a 
Frenchman, and a great captain. For some 
months he kept not only Burgundy but Eng- 
land at bay, holding the royal city against all 
comers. He even made a dash on Harfleur 
(now, 141 5, in the hands of the English) 
which might have been successful but for the 
cowardice of some of his followers. He 
promptly hanged the cowards, but the moment 
was lost. Returning to Paris, he found the 
Burgundians making headway; banished, 
hanged, drowned, beheaded, right and left, 
imposed tremendous taxes, and for a time 
fancied himself, and seemed almost to be, vir- 
tual king of France. 

It was only seeming; Burgundy's hour was 
at hand. Among those banished by Armagnac 
was Queen Isabel, whom (after drowning one 
of her lovers in a sack) he had sent off to 
prison in the castle of Tours. Down swept 

20 



THE LION AND THE LILIES 

John the Fearless, carried her off, proclaimed 
her Regent, and in her name annulled the re- 
cent tax edicts. This was a mortal blow to 
Armagnac. His Gascons held Paris for him, 
but without money he could not hold them. 
Furious, he laid hands on whatever he could 
find; "borrowed" church vessels of gold and 
silver and melted them down to pay his men. 
All would not do. Paris now hated as much 
as it feared him and his Gascons, A little 
while, and hate, aided by treachery, triumphed 
over fear. One night the keys of the St. Ger- 
main gate were stolen from their keeper — 
some say by his own son. Eight hundred Bur- 
gundians crept in, headed by the Sire de I'lsle- 
Adam: crept, pounced, first on that Palace 
where Tragedy and Madness kept watch and 
watch; then, the king once in their hands, on 
the holders of the city. The Dauphin fled to 
the Bastille. Armagnac and his chief followers 
were betrayed and imprisoned. The banished 
Butchers returned, thirsting for blood. The 
hunt was up. 

What followed was a foreshadowing of St. 
Bartholomew, of the Terror, of the Commune. 
Paris went mad, mad as her king in the forest 

21 



JOAN OF ARC 

of Le Mans. All day long frenzied bands, 
citizens and Burgundians together, roamed the 
streets, seizing and slaying; all night the tocsin 
rang, rousing the maddened people to still 
wilder delirium. On the night of June 12th, 
141 8, they broke open the prisons and mur- 
dered their inmates without discrimination; 
Armagnacs, debtors, bishops, State and politi- 
cal prisoners, even some of their own party; a 
slash across the throat was the kindest death 
they met. Count Bernard of Armagnac was 
among the first victims: for days his naked 
body hung on view in the Palace of Justice, 
while in the streets the Paris children played 
with the stripped corpses of his followers. Pri- 
vate grudge or public grievance could be re- 
venged by merely raising the cry of "Armag- 
nac." A sword swept, and the score was wiped 
out. Between midnight of Saturday the twelfth 
and Monday the fourteenth of June (141 8) 
sixteen hundred persons were massacred in the 
prisons and streets of Paris. 

So fell the Armagnacs: and in their fall 
dragged their opponents with them. 

Paris streets were full of unburied corpses; 
Paris gutters ran blood; Paris larders were 

22 



THE LION AND THE LILIES 

bare of food. The surviving Armagnacs, as- 
sembled at Melun, kept supplies from entering 
the city on one side, the English on the other. 
Hunger and Plague, hand in hand, stalked 
through the dreadful streets. Soon fifty thou- 
sand bodies were lying there, with no sword 
in their vitals. Men said that those who had 
hand in the recent massacres died first, with 
cries of despair on their lips. While the city 
crouched terror-stricken, certain priests arose, 
proclaiming the need of still more bloodshed; 
the sacrifice was not complete, they cried. Two 
prisons still remained, the Grand Chatelet and 
the Bastille, crammed with prisoners; among 
them might be, doubtless were, Armagnacs 
held for ransom by the greedy Burgundians. 
To arms, once more! 

Frenzied Paris responded, as — alas! — she 
has so often done. The public executioner, 
mounted on a great white horse, led the shout- 
ing mob first to one, then to the other great 
State Prison. Before the Bastille, John of 
Burgundy met them, imploring them to spare 
the prisoners; humbling himself even to take 
the hangman's bloody hand: in vain. All were 
slain, and the Duke had only the poor satis- 

23 



JOAN OF ARC 

faction of killing the executioner himself a few 
days later. 

Bernard of Armagnac dead, Charles of Or- 
leans safe, since Agincourt, in an English prison 
(writing, for his consolation and our delight, 
the rondels and triolets which will keep his 
name bright and fresh while Poesy endures), 
John the Fearless was in very truth virtual 
king of France. Being so, it behooved him to 
make some head against Henry of England, 
who was now besieging Rouen. This was 
awkward for John, as he had for some time 
been Henry's secret ally, but Rouen was in 
extremity, Paris in danger; even his own faith- 
ful followers began to look askance and to de- 
mand active measures against perfidious and 
all-conquering Albion. John temporized by 
sending four thousand horsemen to Rouen, 
weakening by just so much his hold on the 
capital. He dared not declare himself openly 
on the side of England; dared only make a 
secret treaty with Henry, recognizing his claim 
to the French crown. 

Before setting out from England to besiege 
Rouen, Henry had paid friendly visits to his 
prisoner-kinsmen, the Dukes of Orleans and 

24 



THE LION AND THE LILIES 

Bourbon, and succeeded in alarming both thor- 
oughly. "Fair cousin," he said to the latter, "I 
am returning to the war, and this time I shall 
spare nothing: yes, this time France must pay 
the piper!" and again, perhaps to Orleans this 
time, "Fair cousin, soon I am going to Paris. 
It is a great pity, for they are a brave people; 
but, voyez vous, they are so terribly divided 
that they can do nothing." 

Ominous words for a young gentleman to 
hear who was just writing, perhaps, that he 
would no longer be the servant of Melancholy. 

"Serviteur plus de vous, MerencoHe, 
Je ne serez car trop fort y travaille !" 

Rondel and triolet were laid aside, and the 
two princes wrote urgent letters to their cousin 
Charles, imploring him to make peace on 
Henry's own conditions: poor Charles, who did 
not know his own name or the names of his 
children, who still whispered, "Who is that 
woman? Save me from her!" 

Meantime Henry sent his own messengers, 
in the shape of some eight thousand famish- 
ing Irishmen, whom he carried across the 
Channel and — dumped seems the fitting word — 

25 



JOAN OF ARC 

in Normandy, bidding them forage for them- 
selves. Unarmed, but fearing nothing, and 
very hungry, the Irish roamed the country 
mounted on ponies or cows, whichever was 
*'handy by," seeking what they might devour. 
Monstrelet describes them; may have seen 
them with his own eyes. "One foot was shod, 
the other naked, and they had no breeches. 
They stole little children from the cradle, and 
rode off on cows, carrying the said children"; 
to hold them for ransom, be it said. 

My little measure will not hold the siege of 
Rouen. It was one of the terrible sieges of 
history, and those who love Henry of Mon- 
mouth must read of it with heavy hearts. In 
January, 141 9, when fifty thousand people were 
dead of famine in and around the city, sub- 
mission was made. Henry entered the town, 
with no doubt in his own mind and little in 
those of others, as to who was actually King 
of France. 

He found the kingdom still rent in twain. 
The Dauphin Louis was dead, and Charles, his 
younger brother, had succeeded to the title and 
to the leadership of the Orleans party. The 
iveak, irresolute, hot-headed boy of sixteen was 

26 



THE LION AND THE LH^IES 

surrounded by reckless Gascons who lived by 
their swords and wits, caring little what they 
did, so money might be got, yet who were 
Frenchmen and had red blood in their veins. 
The peace now openly concluded between 
Henry and Burgundy roused them to frenzy. 
English rule was not to their mind. They beset 
the Dauphin with clamors for revenge to which 
he lent only too willing an ear. The affair was 
arranged, and as in the case of the murder of 
Orleans twelve years before, began with a 
reconciliation. The Dauphin longed to see his 
dear cousin of Burgundy; begged that they 
might meet; suggested the Bridge of Mon- 
tereau as a fitting place for the interview. With 
some misgivings, the Duke consented, spite of 
the warnings of his friends. '^Remember 
Louis of Orleans!" they said. "Remember 
Bernard of Armagnac! Be sure that those 
others remember them well!" 

John the Fearless answered as became his 
reputation. It was his duty, he said, to obtain 
peace, even at the risl<: of his own life. If they 
killed him, he would die a martyr : if not, peace 
being secured, he would take the Dauphin's 
men and go fight the English. Then they 

27 



JOAN OF ARC 

should see which was the better man, Han- 
notin (Jack) of Flanders or Henry oi 
England. 

On the tenth of September (1419), he 
reached Montereau, and the long crooked 
bridge spanning the broad Seine. Over the 
bridge the Orleanists had built a roof, trans- 
forming it into a long gallery: in the centre, 
a lodge of rough planks, a narrow door on 
either side. This was the place of rendezvous, 
where the Dauphin awaited his visitor. The 
Burgundian retainers disliked the look of it, and 
besought their master not to set foot on the 
bridge. Let the Dauphin meet him on dry land, 
they said, not on a crazy bridge over deep water. 
The Duke, partly of his own bold will, partly 
through the wiles of a treacherous woman set 
on by his enemies, laughed at their entreaties; 
entered the bridge as gayly as he had entered 
that Paris street, hardly wider than this foot- 
way, where he had looked on at the murder of 
Louis of Orleans, twelve years before. 

"Here is the man I trust!" he said, and 
clapped the shoulder of Tanneguy Duchatel, 
who had come to lead him into the trap. Ten 
minutes later, and he was lying as Orleans had 

28 



THE LION AND THE LILIES 

lain, hacked in pieces, while the Orleanists 
exulted over his body as he had done over 
that of their leader. 

I do not know that there is much to choose 
between these two murders, or that we need 
greatly sorrow for either victim. Probably 
neither gentleman would be at large, had he 
lived in our time. 

And now Henry of Monmouth was king in- 
deed. A few months, and the Treaty of 
Troyes was signed, and Henry entered Paris 
in triumph, riding between King Charles (who 
whispered and muttered and knew little about 
the matter) and the new Duke of Burgundy, 
Philip the Good, son of the murdered man. 
To that ill-omened Palace of St. Paul they 
rode, and there lodged together for a while. 
Henry's banner bore the device of a fox's 
brush, **in which,'' says Monstrelet, the chron- 
icler, "the wise noted many things." Henry 
had long been a hunter of the fox; now he 
came to hunt the French. Paris, still torn and 
bleeding from the wounds of opposing fac- 
tions, welcomed anything that looked like peace 
with power; justice was not looked for in those 
days. Yet it was in the name of Justice that 

29 



JOAN OF ARC 

the two kings, sitting side by side on the same 
throne, heard the solemn appeal of Philip of 
Burgundy and his mother for judgment upon 
the murderers of John the Fearless. They 
demanded that the soi-disant Dauphin, 
Duchatel and the other assassins of the Duke, 
in garb of penance and torch in hand, should be 
dragged in tumbrils round the city, in token of 
their shame and their repentance. The Estates 
of the Realm, summoned in haste, and the Uni- 
versity of Paris, supported the demand; the 
two kings agreed to it. Nothing was needed 
save the culprits themselves, but they were not 
forthcoming. Appear before King and Parlia- 
ment to receive his just doom? The Dauphin 
thanked them I If the King of England could 
play the hunter, Charles of Valois could play 
the fox; et voila tout! "I appeal,*' said the 
Dauphin, "to the sharp end of my sword I" 
Thereupon he was denounced as a treacherous 
assassin, to be deprived of all rights to the 
Crown and of all property. The confiscation 
extended to his followers, and to all the Ar- 
magnac party, living or dead; and the good 
citizens of Paris, fleeced to the bare skin, 
helped themselves as best they might from the 

30 



THE LION AND THE LILIES 

possessions of the outlawed Prince and his 
recreant nobles. 

The Palace of St. Paul saw in those days 
the soldier-wooing of Henry V. and his wed- 
ding to Catherine of Valois, the daughter of 
Charles VI. : saw, two years later, the death of 
Charles himself, who faded out of life some 
two months after his great conqueror; later 
still, in one of its obscure chambers, neglected 
and despairing, the death of Isabel of Bavaria. 
After that it saw little of note, for people 
avoided it; it was an unlucky place, haunted 
forever by those twin shadows of Madness 
and Terror. Gradually it crumbled, passed 
finally into the dimness of forgotten things. 
To-day no stone of it stands upon another. 



CHAPTER III 

DOMREMY 

"Quand j'etais chez tnon phe, petite Jeanneton . . ." 

1 THOUGHT this was a life of Joan of 
Arc!" some bewildered reader may pro- 
test. "I don't want to read a History of 
France 1" 

Patience, gentle one! the Maid and her 
France may not be separated. 

Now, however, it is time to go back a little 
to the year 141 2, and make our way to the 
village of Domremy on the banks of the 
Meuse, near the border of Lorraine. 

Domremy is not an important place: it has 
to-day, as it had four hundred years ago, about 
forty or fifty houses. It lies pleasantly enough 
by the river side, amid green meadows ; a strag- 
gling line of stone cottages, with roofs of 
thatch or tile ; behind it rise low hills, now bare, 
once covered with forests of oak and beech. 
Its people are, as they have always been, 

32 



DOMREMY 

grave and God-fearing; there is a saying about 
them that they "seldom die and never lie." 
They have always been farming people, grow- 
ing corn, planting vineyards, raising cattle. In 
old times, as to-day, the cattle fed on the rich 
pastures of the river valley; the village children 
tended them by day, and at nightfall drove 
them back to the little stone-walled farms. 

The houses were "small, of one or two or 
three rooms, and sometimes there was a low 
garret overhead. The furniture was simple: 
a few stools and benches, a table or a pair of 
trestles with a board to cover them, a few pots 
and pans of copper, and some pewter dishes. 
The housewife had in her chest two or three 
sheets for her feather-bed, two or three ker- 
chiefs, a cloak, a piece of cloth ready to be 
made into whatever garment was most needed, 
and a few buttons and pins. Often there was 
a sword in the corner, or a spear or an arblast, 
but the peasants were peaceful, seldom waged 
war, and often were unable even to resist 
attack."^ 

The people of Domremy were vassals of 
the lords of Bourlemont, whose castle still 

* Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 15. 
33 



JOAN OF ARC 

overlooks the Meuse valley. The relationship 
was a friendly one in the main. The dues 
were heavy, to be sure. "Twice a year a tax 
must be paid on each animal drawing a cart; 
the lord*s harvest must be gathered, his hay 
cut and stored, firewood drawn to his house, 
fowls and beef and bacon furnished to his 
table. Those who had no carts must carry his 
letters." ^ 

But this was the common lot of French 
peasants. In return, the lord of Bourlemont 
recognized certain responsibilities for them in 
time of trouble. His own castle was four miles 
distant, but in the village itself he owned a little 
fortress called the Castle of the Island, which 
the villagers guarded for him in time of peace 
and where they could take refuge In time of 
danger. Sometimes even, the Seigneur seems 
to have had pangs of conscience concerning his 
villagers, as when, in 1399, the then lord pro- 
vided in his will that "if the people of Dom- 
remy can show that they have been unjustly 
compelled to give him two dozen goslings, 
restitution shall be made." ^ 



* Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 18. 

*Luce. "Jeanne d'Arc a Domremy," p. 19. 

34 



DOMREMY 

In one of the stone cottages (standing still, 
though overmuch restored) lived, early in the 
fifteenth century, Jacques d'Arc and Isabel his 
wife. Jacques was a responsible man, liked 
and respected by his neighbors. As dean of 
the village, he inspected weights and measures, 
commanded the watch, collected the taxes. 
Dame Isabel had enough learning to teach her 
five children their Credo, Pater and Ave, but 
probably little more; she spun and wove, and 
was doubtless a good house-mother. With 
four of the children we have little concern ; our 
affair is with the fifth, a daughter born (prob- 
ably) in January, 141 2, and named Jeanne or 
Jehane. All her names are beautiful: "Jeanne 
la Pucelle," "the Maid of Orleans,'' "the Maid 
of France" ; most familiar of all to our Anglo- 
Saxon ears, "Joan of Arc." 

Joan was three years old when Agincourt 
was lost and won. It was a far cry from 
upper Normandy to the province of Bar where 
Domremy lay; the Meuse flowed tranquilly 
by, but no echoes of the English war reached 
it at this time. Life went peacefully on; the 
children, as I have said, drove the cattle to 
the river meadows, frolicked beside the clear 

35 



JOAN OF ARC 

stream, gathering flowers, singing the im- 
memorial songs of France; and as evening 
closed, drove them home again to the farm : 
or they tended their sheep on the Common, 
or followed their pigs through the oak forest 
that stretched behind and above it. In the 
forest lurked romance and adventure, possible 
danger. There were wolves there; no doubt 
about that. There were also, most people 
thought, fairies, both good and bad. Near 
the village itself stood the great beech tree 
known as "the Ladles' Tree," or the "Fairies* 
Tree," with Its fountain close by, the Foun- 
tain of the Gooseberry Bushes, where people 
came to be healed of various diseases. An- 
other great tree was called *'Le Beau Mai*' 
and was even more mystical. Who knows from 
what far Druid time came the custom of dan- 
cing around its huge trunk and hanging garlands 
on Its gnarled boughs? They were pious gar- 
lands now, dedicated to Our Lady of Dom- 
remy; but it was whispered that the fairies still 
held their revels there. The lord of Bourle- 
mont and his lady sometimes joined the dan- 
cing; had not his ancestor loved ^ fairy when 
time was, and been loved of her? They never 

36 



DOMREMY 

failed to join the rustic festival that was held 
under the Fairy Tree on the ^'Sunday in Lent 
called LaeterCj or des Fontaines.^* One of 
Joan's godmothers said she had seen the 
fairies: Joan never did. She hung garlands, 
with the other little girls; danced with them 
hand in hand, singing. One would like to 
know the songs they sang. Was one of them 
the quaint ditty whose opening lines head this 
chapter? 

"Quand j'etais ches mon p^re, petite Jeanneton, 

La glin glon glon, 
M'envoit a la fontaine pour remplir mon cruchon!" 

Or was it the story of that vigneron who had 
a daughter whom he would give to neither 
poor nor rich, Ion la, and whom he finally saw 
carried off by a cavalier of Hungary, 

"La prit et ('import a, 

Sur son cheval d'Hongrie, Ion la!" 

A warning to selfish Papas. Or did there come 
to Domremy, wandering down the Meuse as 
the wind wanders, some of those wild, melan- 
choly sea-songs that the Corsairs and the fisher- 

37 



k 



JOAN OF ARC 

men sang, as they sharpened their cutlasses or 
drew their nets in harbor? 

"// etait trois mdtelois de Grots, 
Emharques sur le Saint Francois, 
Tra la derida la la la!" 

Olivier Basselin, of Val-de-Vire, died when 
Joan was six years old, but his songs are alive 
to-day: gay little songs, called from the place 
of their origin ^^Vaux-de-Virey* whence the 
modern word vaudeville. Perhaps Joan and 
her playmates sang his songs; I do not know. 
In later, sadder years, Joan's enemies made, 
as we shall see, all that could be made out of 
these simple woodland frolics. *^Le Beau 
Maiy which in spring was "fair as lily flow- 
ers, the leaves and branches sweeping the 
ground" ^ became a tree of doom, a gathering- 
place of witches, of worse than witches. Joan 
herself, hanging her pretty garlands to the 
Virgin, as sweet a child-figure as lives in his- 
tory, became a dark sorceress, ringed with 
flame, summoning to her aid the fiends of the 
pit. We need not yet turn that page; we may 
see her as her neighbors saw her, a grave, 

* Gerardin. 

38 



% 



DOMREMY 

brown-eyed child, beloved by old and young: 
industrious, as all her people were; guiding 
the plough, watching the sheep or cattle, 
gathering flowers, acorns, fagots: or indoors, 
spinning, sewing, learning all household work 
under her mother's guidance. She loved to 
go to church, and hastened thither when the 
bell rang for mass; preferring it to dance or 
play. 

"There was not a better girl," the neigh- 
bors said, "In the two villages (Domremy and 
Greux). For the love of God she gave alms; 
and if she had money would have given it to 
the cure for masses to be said." 

The village beadle being a trifle lax in his 
ways, she would bribe him with little presents 
to ring the church bell punctually. The chil- 
dren did not always understand her, would 
laugh sometimes when she left the games and 
went to kneel In the little gray church; but the 
sick and the poor understood her well enough. 
She loved nursing, and had a light hand with 
the sick; they never forgot her care of them; 
it was her way, if any poor homeless body 
came wandering by (there were many such 
in France then, almost as many as to-day) to 

39 



JOAN OF ARC 

give up her bed to the vagrant and sleep on 
the hearth all night. 

Joan was eight years old when the Treaty 
of Troyes was signed, by which France vir- 
tually passed into the hands of England. Not 
long after, the miseries of war invaded the 
quiet valley of the Meuse; Burgundian and Ar- 
magnac began to burn, harry and slay here as 
they had long been doing elsewhere. The latter 
were headed by Stephen de Vignolles, better 
known as La Hire, a man as brave as he was 
brutal, and with a spark of humor which lights 
his name yet on the clouded page of the time. 
It is told how one day, starting out to relieve 
Montargis, besieged by the English, he met a 
priest on the way, and thinking it might be 
well to add spiritual armor to "helm and 
hauberk's twisted mail,'' demanded absolution. 
The priest demurred; confession must come 
first. "I have no time for that!" said La Hire, 
"I'm in a hurry; I have done in the way of sins 
all that men of war are In the habit of doing." 
"Whereupon," says the chronicler, "the chap- 
lain gave him absolution for what it was 
worth, and the knight, putting his hands to- 
gether, prayed thus, 'God, I pray thee to do 

40 



DOMREMY 

for La Hire this day as much as thou wouldest 
have La Hire do for thee if he were God 
and thou La HireT " 

Similar stories are told of many men in many 
lands; this may be as true as the rest of them. 

La Hire's valiant doings by the side of Joan 
and Dunois at Orleans and elsewhere, are on 
the credit side of his book of life; but in the 
years following 1420, he and his like wrought 
dreadful havoc in the valley of the Meuse. 
They pretended to seek redress for hostile acts; 
in reality, they wanted blood and plunder, and 
took both without stint. They drove off the 
cattle and burned the crops; this was the least 
of it. "These men," wrote Juvenal des Ursins, 
"under pretence of blackmail and so forth, 
seized men, women, and little children, regard- 
less of age and sex; violated women and girls; 
killed husbands and fathers before their wives 
and daughters; carried off nurses, and left their 
children to die of hunger; seized priests and 
monks, put them to the torture, and beat them 
until they were maimed or driven mad. Some 
they roasted, dashed out the teeth of others, 
and others they beat with great clubs. God 
knows what cruelty they wrought." 

41 



JOAN OF ARC 

Jacques d'Arc and another man of means 
(as means went in Domremy!) hired the 
Castle of the Island from the lady of Bourle- 
mont, at a considerable rent, for the safe- 
keeping of their families and their flocks and 
herds in case of attack. A year or two later, 
the men of Domremy bound themselves to pay 
a hearth-tax to the lord of Commercy, a high- 
born ruffian of the neighborhood, so long as he 
abstained from burning and pillaging their 
homes. The bond declares itself to be given 
"with good will, and without any force, con- 
straint, or guile whatsoever.'' No need for an 
Artemas Ward to add, "This is rote sar- 
kasticul !" The villagers knew well enough that 
if the blackmail were not paid, houses, church 
and all would go up in smoke and flame. 

Joan, as she herself says, "helped well to 
drive the cattle and sheep to the Island," when 
news came of raiders prowling up or down the 
valley. Burgundian or Armagnac, it mattered 
little which; neither boded any good to the 
village. The Castle itself was uninhabited: its 
blank windows looked down on a garden, with 
great poplar trees here and there, and neglected 
flower-beds, once the delight of the Lady and 

42 



DOMREM\ 

her children. Bees hummed In the lilies, birds 
flitted from branch to branch, caring nothing 
for Burgundlan or Armagnac; all was peace 
and tranquillity. Here the dreamy child wan- 
dered, looking up at the silent walls, seeing in 
thought, it may be, shadowy figures of knight 
and lady gazing down on her, the child of 
France who was to be her country's saviour. 

Doubtless she watched the boys playing at 
siege and battle In and around the little fortress: 
for aught we know, she may have joined their 
play, and so learned her first lessons in arms. 
In any case, tales of blood and rapine must 
have been daily in her ears; emphasized about 
this time by news of the death of a cousin, 
"struck by a ball or stone from a gun." 

Other tales were doubtless in her ears. 
Among the wanderers who sat by the kindly 
fireside of Jacques d'Arc would be mendicant 
friars, Franciscan or Cordelier, making their 
way from door to door, from village to village, 
giving in return for food and shelter what they 
had to give : a blessing for the hospitable house, 
a prayer for its inmates, and news of the coun- 
tryside. The last raid discussed, the next 
prognosticated, the general state of country 

43 



JOAN OF ABC 

and world deplored, there might be talk of 
things spiritual. The d'Arc family would 
naturally tell of their patron St. Remy, who, 
watching over the holy city of Rheims, was so 
kind as to extend his protection over Dom- 
remy. What a learned, what a wonderful 
man! how bold in his admonition to King 
Clevis at the latter's baptism ! "Bow thy head 
meekly, O Sicambrian! adore what thou hast 
burnt, and burn what thou hast adored!" Yes! 
yes! brave words! 

Then the guest might ask, was not this the 
country of the Oak Wood, ^He Bois Chesnuf' 
Had they heard the prophecy that a Maid 
should be born in the neighborhood, who 
should do great deeds? Yes, truly, there was 
such a prophecy. It was made by Merlin the 
Wise. In Latin he made it; Nemus Canutum, 
the place; surely an oak wood, on the borders 
of Lorraine. That was long and long ago, and 
had been well-nigh forgotten; but a generation 
ago only — surely they had heard this? — a holy 
woman, Marie of Avignon, had made her way 
to his sacred Majesty, then suffering cruelly 
under the dispensations of God and also under 
that wicked Queen Isabeau, on whom might his 

44 



DOJVIREMY 

sufferings be avenged, amen! made her way 
to him, and told of a dream she had dreamed, 
a terrible dream, full of clashing of swords. 
She saw shining armor, and cried out, alas! 
she could not use it I but a voice said that it 
was for a Maid who should restore France. 
Yes, indeed, that would be a fine thing, if our 
fair country, ruined by a woman, should be 
restored by a woman from the marches of Lor- 
raine. Pax vohiscum! 

These things, and others like them, no doubt 
Joan heard, sitting quietly by with her sewing 
or knitting while the elders talked. These 
things by and by were to be a sword in her 
hand, and — later still — a torch in the hands 
of her enemies. 



CHAPTER IV 

GRAPES OF WRATH 

"In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and 
weeping, and great mourning. Rachel weeping for her 
children, and would not be comforted, because they are 
not." — Jeremiah. 

WHEN the conqueror of Agincourt lay 
dying at Meaux, word was brought to 
him that his queen, Catherine of France, had 
borne him a son at Windsor Castle. "AlasT* 
he said; "Henry of Monmouth has reigned a 
short time and conquered much. Henry of 
Windsor will reign long and lose all." Few 
prophecies, perhaps, have been so literally 
fulfilled. 

At the accession of Henry VI., the "meek 
usurper,"^ France was as near her death-agony 

*"Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame. 
With many a foul and midnight murder fed. 
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, 
And spare the meek usurper's holy head!" 

— Gray, the Bard. 

46 



GRAPES OF WRATH 

as she had ever been. Since the first invasion 
of Henry V., war, famine and pestilence had 
never ceased their ravages. Whole districts, 
once peopled, had become solitary wastes. 
The peasants, tired of sowing that others might 
reap, threw down pick and hoe, left wife and 
children, in a despair that was near to mad- 
ness, and took to the woods, there to worship 
Satan in very truth. God and his saints having 
forsaken them, they would see what Satan and 
his demons could do for them. Things could 
not be worse, and at least in this service they 
would stand where their masters and tyrants 
stood. 

In Paris, things were no better. In the year 
141 8 there died in the city of the plague alone, 
80,000 persons. "They are buried in layers 
of thirty and forty corpses together, packed as 
bacon is." ^ 

Two years later, when the English entered 
Paris, it was hoped that they would bring with 
them not only peace and order, but food. The 
hope was vain. "All through Paris you could 
hear the pitiable lamentation of the little chil- 
dren. One saw upon one dungheap twenty, 

'"Journal of a citizen of Paris." 
47 



JOAN OF ARC 

thirty children dying of hunger and cold. No 
heart was so hard but had great pity upon hear- 
ing their piteous cry throughout the night, 'I 
die of starvation!' " ^ 

By day, when the dog-killer passed through 
the streets, he was followed by a throng of 
famished people, who fell upon each stray dog 
as it was killed, and devoured it, leaving the 
bare bones: by night the wolves, also hungry, 
the country being stripped, made their way into 
the city, where they found ample provender 
in the scarcely-covered corpses. 

A kind of death-madness sprang up and 
seized upon the people; a hideous carnival of 
corruption began. People danced, as in the 
fairy-tales, whether they would or no, sick and 
well, young and old, and their dancing-green 
was the graveyard. A grinning skeleton was 
enthroned as King Death, and round him the 
frantic people danced hand in hand, shouting 
and singing, over the graves that held their 
friends and kinsfolk. Soon there was no more 
room in the burial places; but still the people 
died. Charnel houses were built, where corpses 
were stored, being taken up a short time after 

* "Journal of a Citizen of Paris." 

48 



GRAPES OF WRATH 

burial to make room for fresh ones. The soil 
of the Cemetery of the Innocents was piled 
eight feet high above the surrounding streets. 

Such was life — and death — for the common 
people, whom no man regarded. We hive 
already seen how it was with the noble in war; 
in private life they were no less fanatic. That 
strange and hideous phenomenon known as the 
blood-madness of tyrants, broke out like some 
frightful growth upon the unhappy country. 
The chronicles of the time read like records of 
nightmare. Great princes, noble knights, 
robbed, tortured, slew their wives, fathers, 
brothers, no man saying them nay. The Sieur 
de Giac gave his wife poison, and made her 
gallop on horseback behind him till she 
dropped dead from the saddle. Adolf de 
Gueldres, "under the excuse that parricide was 
the rule in the family,'* dragged his father 
from his bed, compelled him to walk naked five 
miles, and then threw him down into a horrible 
dungeon to die.^ The time was past when 
the ^^prudhommes** the honest men of a vil- 
lage, might come before their lord and rebuke 

'Lt.-Col. A. C. P. Haggard. D. S. O. "The France of 
Joan of Arc." 

49 



JOAN OF ARC 

him with "Messire, such and such a thing is not 
the custom of the good people of these parts I" 
In the fourteenth century, they were listened 
to; in the fifteenth, they would probably have 
their throats cut and be thrown on the 
dungheap. 

"Of the same lump (as it is said) 
For honor and dishonor made. 
Two sister vessels." 

Say rather, of the same earth two flowers. 
From the same dreadful soil of carnage that 
gave birth to the Lily of France springs up 
to enduring infamy a supreme Flower of Evil, 
the figure of Gilles de Rais, Marshal of 
France. His story reads like a fairy tale gone 
bad. 

Born in 1404, grandnephew of Bertrand du 
Guesclin, neighbor and relative of Olivier de 
Clisson; comrade-in-arms of Joan of Arc. 
Orphaned in his boyhood, he was left to the 
over-tender mercies of an adoring grandfather 
who refused him nothing. In after years, 
when horror closed round his once-shining 
name and men shrank from him as from a 
leper, he cried out in his agony: "Fathers and 

50 



GRAPES OF WRATH 

mothers who hear me, beware, I Implore you, 
of rearing your children in softness. For me, 
if I have committed such and such crimes, the 
cause of It Is that in my youth I was always 
allowed to do as I pleased/* ("L'o« m'a ton- 
jours laisse aller au gre de ma volonte/^) 

From a child, he showed distinction in the 
arts of war; appeared for a time clad In all 
the warlike virtues. Enormously rich, in his 
own right as well as by marriage, he was 
eagerly welcomed to the standard of Charles 
the Dauphin, who was correspondingly poor. 
We shall see him at Orleans, riding beside the 
Maid, one of her devoted admirers; through 
all the period of his youth, his public acts shone 
bright and gallant as his own sword. 

The second period of his life shows the 
artist, the seeker, the man of boundless ambi- 
tions. He aspired to be ** litterateur savant et 
artiste/*^ He had a passion for the beautiful, 
a passion for knowledge; for manuscripts, 
music, drama, science, especially that so-called 
science of the occult. When he traveled, he 
carried with him his valuable library, from 
which he would not be separated: carried also 

*GIlles de Rais. 

SI 



JOAN OF ARC 



I 



his two splendid organs, his chapel, his mili- 
tary household. He kept his own court of over 
two hundred mounted men, knights, squires, 
pages, all magnificently equipped and main- 
tained at his expense. At two of his cities, 
Machecoul and Tiffanges, he maintained all the 
clergy of a cathedral and a collegiate church: 
dean, archdeacon, etc., etc., twenty-five to thirty 
persons, who (like the library) accompanied 
him on his travels, no less splendidly dressed 
than the knights and squires. 

Many pages of a bulky memoir are devoted 
to the various ways in which Gilles squandered 
his princely fortune. Our concern is with his 
efforts to restore It, or rather to make another 
when it was gone. 

In the course of his studies, he had not neg- 
lected the then-stlU-popular one of alchemy, 
and to this he turned when no more money was 
to be had. Gold, it appeared, could be made; 
if so, he was the man to make It. Workshops 
were set up at Tiffanges, perhaps in that 
gloomy donjon tower which alone remains to- 
day of all that Arabian Nights castle of splen- 
dor and luxury. Alchemists were summoned 
and wrought night and day, spurred on by 

52 



GRAPES OF WRATH 

promises and threats. Night and day they 
wrought; but no gold appeared. Fearing for 
their lives, they hinted at other and darker 
things that might be necessary; at other 
agencies which might produce the desired re- 
sult. If my lord would call in, for example, 

those who dealt in magic ? 

Frantic in his quest, Gilles stopped at noth- 
ing. Necromancers were sent for, and came; 
they in turn summoned "spirits from the vasty 
deep** or elsewhere, who obediently appeared. 
Trembling, yet exultant, Gilles de Rais spoke 
to the demons, asking for knowledge, power 
and riches {^^science, puissance, et richesse'')^ 
promising in return anything and everything 
except his life and his soul. The demons, 
naturally enough, made no reply to this one- 
sided offer. It is curious to read of the mid- 
night scenes In that summer of 1439 when 
Gilles and his magician-friend Prelati, with 
their three attendants, tried to strike this bar- 
gain with the infernal powers. Torches, in- 
cense, pentacles, crucibles, etc., etc. ; nothing 
was omitted. They adjured Satan, Belial, and 
Beelzebub to appear and *'speak up"; adjured 
them, singularly enough, in the name of the 

S3 



JOAN OF ARC 

Holy Trinity, of the Blessed Virgin and all the 
saints. The demons remained mute; nor were 
they moved by sacrifices of dove, pigeon or kid. 
Finally, a demon called "Barron" made re- 
sponse: it appeared that what the fiends de- 
sired was human sacrifice: that without it no 
favors might be expected of them. 

About this time the western provinces of 
France became afflicted with a terrible scourge. 
A monster, it was whispered, a murderous 
beast, bete d* extermination, was hiding in the 
woods, none knew where. Children began to 
disappear; youths and maidens too, all young 
and tender human creatures. They vanished, 
leaving no trace behind. At first the bereaved 
parents lamented as over some natural acci- 
dent. The little one had strayed from home, 
had fallen into the river, had lost its way in the 
forest. The friends mourned with them, but 
were hardly surprised: it was not too strange 
for those wild days. But the thing spread. In 
the next village, two children had disappeared; 
in the next again, four. The creature, what- 
ever it was, grew bolder, more ravenous. Ter- 
ror seized the people; the whole countryside 
was in an agony of fear and suspense. Rumor 

54 



GRAPES OF WRATH 

spread far and wide; the beast took shape as 
a human monster; the ogre was evolved, CrO' 
quemitaine, who devoured children as we eat 
bread. A little while, and the monster was 
localized. It was within such a circle that the 
children were vanishing; near Tiffanges, near 
Machecoul, the two fairy castles of the great 
Seigneur Gilles de Rais. Slowly but surely the 
net of suspicion was drawn, closer, closer yet. 
The whispers spread, grew bolder, finally 
broke into open speech. "The beast of exter- 
mination" was none other than the Marshal 
of France, the companion of Dunois and La 
Hire, and of the Maid herself, the great lord 
and mighty prince, Gilles de Rais. Search was 
made in the chambers of Machecoul, in the 
gloomy vaults of Tiffanges. The bones of the 
murdered children were found, here lying in 
heaps on the floor, there hidden in the depths 
of well or oubliette. It is not a tale to dwell 
upon; it is enough to know that in a few years 
over three hundred children and young people 
had been foully and cruelly done to death. 

In 1440 the matter reached the drowsy ear 
of Public Justice. Gilles was formally arrested 
(making no resistance, secure in his own 

55 



JOAN OF ARC 

power), was tried, tortured, and after making 
full confession and expressing repentance for 
his crimes, was condemned to be burned; but, 
meeting more tender executioners than did the 
Maid of France, was strangled instead, and his 
body piously buried by "certain noble ladies." 

Every French child of education knows 
something of the ^^jeune et beau Dunois** ; 
every French child, educated or not, knows the 
story of Joan of Arc; Anglo-Saxon children 
may not invariably attain this knowledge, but 
they all know Gilles de Rais, though they never 
heard his name. Soon after his death, he 
passed into the realm of Legend, and under 
the title of Bluebeard he lives, and will live as 
long as there are children. Legend, that en- 
chanting but inaccurate dame, gave him his 
seven wives; he had but one, and she survived 
him. His own name soon passed out of use. 
Even in the town of Nantes, where he met his 
death, the expiatory monument raised by 
Marie de Rais on the place of her father's 
torture was called *He monument de Barbe- 
Bleuer 

So, strangely enough, it is the children who 
keep alive the memory of their slayer. 

S6 



CHAPTER V 

THE VOICES 

Et €UssIez-vous, Dangler, cent yeulx 

Assis et derreriere et devant, 

Ja n'yrez si pres regardant 

Que vostre propos en soit mieulx. 

— Charles d'Orleans. 

IN 1425, when Joan was in her fourteenth 
year, Domremy had its first taste of actual 
war. Henry of Orly, a robber captain of the 
neighborhood, pounced upon the village with 
his band, so suddenly and swiftly that the peo- 
ple could not reach their island refuge. The 
robbers, more greedy than bloodthirsty, did 
not wait to slay, merely stripped the houses 
of everything worth carrying off, and ^'lifted" 
the cattle, as the Scots say, driving them some 
fifty miles to Orly^s castle of Doulevant. The 
distressed villagers appealed to the lady of 
Bourlemont, who in turn called upon her kins- 
man Anthony of Vaudemont, a powerful noble 
of Lorraine. Cousin Anthony promptly sent 
men to recover the stolen cattle. Orly, resist- 

57 



JOAN OF ARC 

ingv was beaten off, and the beasts were 
brought back in safety to Domremy, where the 
happy villagers received them with shouts of 
joy. 

The English were not directly responsible 
for this raid. Orly was a free-lance, robbing 
and harrying on his own account; Vaudemont 
was Anglo-Burgundian at heart. None the 
less, people, here as everywhere, were begin- 
ning to feel that war and trouble had come 
with the English, and that there could be no 
lasting peace or quiet while they trod the soil 
of France. 

Not long after this raid, about noon of a 
summer day, Joan of Arc was In her father's 
garden, which lay between the house and the 
little gray church. We do not know just what 
the girl was doing, whether gathering flowers 
for her pleasure, or herbs for household use, 
or simply dreaming away a leisure hour, as 
girls love to do. Suddenly "on her left hand, 
toward the church, she saw a great light, and 
had a vision of the archangel Michael, sur- 
rounded by other angels.*' ^ 

* Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 28. N. B.— Other authorities 
place the light on her right hand. 

S8 



THE VOICES 

Thus, briefly and simply, the marvelous 
story begins. Indeed, the beginning must 
needs be brief, since only Joan herself could 
tell of the vision, and she was always reticent 
about it. She would not, press her as they 
might, describe the appearance of the arch- 
angel. We must picture him for ourselves, 
and this, thanks to Guido RenI, we may easily 
do. The splendid young figure in the sky- 
blue corslet, his fair hair afloat about his light- 
ning countenance as he raises his sword above 
the prostrate Dragon, Is familiar to us all. We 
may, if you please, fancy him similarly attired 
In the little garden at Domremy, but the light- 
ning would be softened to a kindlier glow as 
he addressed the frightened child. 

Michael, chief of the seven (some say 
eight) archangels. Is mentioned five times in 
the Scriptures, always as fighting: his festival 
(September 29th) should be kept, one might 
think, with clash of swords Instead of chime 
of bells. We read that he was the special pro- 
tector of the Chosen People; that he was the 
messenger of peace and plenty, the leader of 
the heavenly host In war, the representative of 
the Church triumphant; that his name means 

59 



JOAN OF ARC 

"God's power,*' or "who Is like God." As late 
as 1607, the red-velvet-covered buckler said to 
have been carried by him In his war with Luci- 
fer was shown in a church In Normandy, till 
Its exhibition was forbidden by the Bishop of 
'Avranches. On the promontory of Malea is 
a chapel built to him; when the wind blows 
from that quarter, the sailors call It the beat- 
ing of St. Michael's wings, and in sailing past 
they pray the saint to keep the great wings 
folded till they have rounded the cape. Of St. 
Michael's Mount in Cornwall, it is told that 
whatever woman sits in the rocky seat known 
as Michael's Chair, will rule her husband ever 
after. For further light on St. Michael, see 
Paradise Lost. It remained for a poet of our 
own day, more lively than Mlltonic, to fix him 
in our minds with a new epithet : 

"When Michael, the Irish archangel, stands. 
The angel with the sword." ^ 

Little Joan, trembling among her rose- 
bushes, knew, we may Imagine, none of these 
things. She saw "Messire Saint Michel" as a 
heavenly prince with his attending angels: 

*W.B. Clarke. "The Fighting Race." 
60 



THE VOICES 

"there was much light from every side," she 
said, *'as was fitting.'' He spoke to her; bade 
her be a good girl, and go often to church. 
Then the vision faded. 

Seven years later, answering her judges, she 
speaks thus of the matter: "When I was thir- 
teen years old (or about thirteen) I had a 
Voice from God, to help me in my conduct. 
And the first time, I was in great fear." 

W^e may well believe it. We can fancy the 
child, her eyes still dazzled with the heavenly 
light, the heavenly voice still in her ears, steal- 
ing back into the house, pale and trembling. 
She said no word to mother Isabel or sister 
Catherine of what had come to her; for many 
a day the matter was locked in her own faith- 
ful heart. 

The vision came again. The archangel 
promised that St. Catherine and St. Margaret 
should come to give her further help and com- 
fort, and soon after these heavenly visitants 
appeared. "Their heads were crowned with 
fair crowns," says Joan, "richly and preciously. 
To speak of this I have leave from the Lord. 
. . . Their voices were beautiful, gentle and 



sweet." 



6i 



JOAN OF ARC 

We are not told which of the six St. Cath- 
erines It was who came to Joan; whether the 
Alexandrian maiden martyred In 307, she of 
the wheel and the ring; or St. Catherine of 
Siena, who at Joan's birth had been dead but 
thirty years, who had herself seen visions and 
heard voices, and who by her own voice swayed 
kings and popes and won the hearts of all men 
to her; or whether it was one of the lesser 
lights of that starry name. 

As to St. Margaret, there can be no doubt; 
she was the royal Atheling, queen and saint of 
Scotland, one of the gracious and noble figures 
of history. We may read to-day how, sailing 
across the narrow sea, bound on a visit to her 
mother's father, the King of Hungary 
(through whom she could claim kinship with 
St. Ursula and with St. Elizabeth of Hungary) 
her vessel was storm-driven up the Firth of 
Forth, to find shelter In the little bay still 
known as St. Margaret's Hope. (Close by 
was the Queen's Ferry, known to readers of 
Scott and Stevenson; to-day the monstrous 
Forth Bridge has buried both spots under tons 
of stone and iron. ) Visitors were rare on that 
coast In the time of Malcolm III., especially 

62 



I 



THE VOICES 

ladles "of incomparable beauty." Word was 
hastily sent to the King hard by in his palace 
of Dunfermline, and he as hastily came down 
to see for himself; saw, loved, wooed and won, 
all in short space. History makes strange bed- 
fellows ; it is curious to think that Joan's saintly 
visitor was so early Queen of Scotland only by 
grace of Macbeth's dagger, which slew the 
gentle Duncan, her husband's father. 

Joan knew St. Margaret well; there was a 
statue of her in the church of Domremy. The 
gracious ladles spoke kindly to her: permitted 
her to embrace them; bade her, as St. Michael 
had bidden her, to be good, to pray, to attend 
church punctually. 

The visions became more or less regular, 
appearing twice or thrice a week; Joan was 
obedient to them, did all they asked, partly no 
doubt through awe and reverence, but also 
because she felt from the first that a great thing 
had come to her. "The first time that I heard 
the Voice, I vowed to keep my maidenhood 
so long as God pleased." 

If a great thing had come to her, one was 
demanded of her in return. The heavenly 
ladles, when they had told her their names, 

63 



JOAN OF ARC 

bade her "help the king of France." This was 
a strange thing. She, a poor peasant maiden, 
humble and obscure, with no knowledge save 
of household matters and of tending sheep and 
cattle; what had she to do with kings? Joan 
might well have asked herself this, but she did 
not ask the saints. She listened reverently and 
waited for further light upon her path. The 
light came very gradually; it was as if the 
ladies were gentling a wild bird, coming a 
little and still a little nearer, till they could 
touch, could caress it, could still the frightened 
panting of the tiny breast. Soon the girl came 
to love them dearly, so that when they left her 
she wept and longed to go with them. This 
went on for three years, Joan still keeping the 
matter wholly to herself. She did her work 
punctually and faithfully; drove the cattle, 
sewed, spun and wove. No one knew or 
guessed that anything strange had come into 
her life. It was seen that she grew graver, 
more inclined to religious exercises and to soli- 
tary musing, less and less ready to join the 
village frolics; but this was nothing specially 
remarkable in a pious French maiden of those 
days. It was a more serious matter that she 

64 



THE VOICES 

should refuse an offer of marriage, a suitable 
offer from a responsible young man: her 
parents protested, but In vain. It was as if the 
suitor did not exist for her. In after years, 
when the folk of Domremy were besieged with 
questions about Joan's childhood and girlhood, 
they racked their brains for significant mem- 
ories, but found few or none. Thereupon my 
Lady Legend came kindly to their aid, and in 
an astonishingly short space of time a host of 
supernatural matters transpired. Some of the 
stories were very pretty; as that of the race 
in the river-meadows, the prize a nosegay, won 
by Joan, who ran so lightly that her feet 
seemed hardly to touch the ground. "Joan," 
cried one of the girls, "I see you flying close 
to the earth!" Presently, the race over, and 
Joan at the end of the meadow, "as it were 
rapt and distraught," she saw a youth beside 
her who said, "Joan, go home; your mother 
needs you!" Joan hastened home, only to be 
reproved by Dame Isabel for leaving her 
sheep. 

"Did you not send for me?" asked the 
Maid. Assured of this, she turned meekly 
back, when there passed before her eyes a shin- 

65 



JOAN OF ARC 

ing cloud, and from the cloud came a voice bid- 
ding her "change her course of life, and do 
marvelous deeds, for the King of Heaven had 
chosen her to aid the King of France. She 
must wear man's dress, take up arms, be a 
captain in the war, and all would be ordered by 
her advice." 

Some historians accept, others reject this 
story: *'I tell the tale that I heard told.*' 

For several years — some say three, some 
five — the Maid kept these things in her heart. 
But now the Voices (she always called them 
so) became more explicit. She must "go into 
France." 

(Here arise questions concerning the borders 
of Bar and Lorraine, which concern us little 
to-day, albeit volumes have been written about 
them. Domremy was actually in France, but 
not in that part of it held by the Orleanists; 
Burgundy lay between, and several broad prov- 
inces held by the English: yet the people of 
Domremy were French, every fibre of them, 
and not a heart in the village but was with 
Charles of Valois in his struggle to regain his 
father's crown.) 

She must go to France, said the Voices, 

66 



THE VOICES 

because of the "great pity'* that was there. 
She must save France, must save the king. 
Over and over again, this was repeated, till the 
words might have been found written on her 
heart, as *'Calais" on Mary Tudor's. 

It was the autumn of 1428, and ^'Orleans" 
was the word on all lips and in all hearts of 
Frenchmen. The English were encamped 
around the city, had invested it; the siege had 
begun. If Orleans fell, France fell with her. 
Clearer and clearer came the Voices. Not only 
France, but Orleans, Joan was bidden to save. 
This done, she must seek the Dauphin Charles, 
must lead him to Rheims and there see him 
crowned king. What she must do thereafter 
was not clear; the Voices rang confusedly. 
Something there was about driving the English 
from France. But now, now, now, she must 
be about the work in hand. She must go to 
Robert of Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs, and 
ask him for an escort to the Dauphin. 

"I am a poor girl!*' cried the Maid. "I 
have never sat a horse; how should I lead an 
army?" 

Clearer and stronger day by day the Voices 

67 



JOAN OF ARC 

reiterated their command. She must go, go, 
go to Vaucouleurs. 

At last Joan could resist no longer. "The 
time went heavily with me, as with a woman in 
travail." She resolved to go "into France," 
though, she said, unless at God's bidding, she 
would rather be torn by wild horses than 
leave Domremy. 

About this time Jacques d'Arc had a dream, 
wherein he saw his daughter riding in company 
with armed men. He was both frightened and 
angry. "If I knew of your sister's going," he 
said to his sons, Peter and John, "I would bid 
you drown her; if you refused, I would drown 
her myself." 

While Joan is standing on the threshold, 
looking out wide-eyed into that new, strange 
world of war and bloodshed for which she 
must leave forever the small safe ways of 
home, let us try to form some idea of what 
she was going out for to see. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE EMPTY THRONE 

Alez-vous en, alez, alez, 
Soussi, Soing, et Merencolie, 
Me cuidez-vous toute ma vie 
Gouverner, comme fait avez. 

Je vous promet que non ferez; 
Raison aura sur vous maistrie: 
Alez-vous en, alez, alez, 
Soussi, Soing et Merencolie. 

Se jamais plus vous retournez 
Avecques vostre compaignie. 
Je pri a Dieu qu'il vous maudie 
Et ce par qui vous revendrez: 
Alez-vous en, alez, alez. 

— Charles d'Orlean:;^ 

AT the funeral of Charles VI. of France 
(November nth, 1422) John, Duke 
of Bedford, was the solitary mourner. Alone 
he walked, the sword of state borne before 
him as Regent of France ; alone he knelt at the 
requiem mass: an alien and a stranger. The 
people of Paris looked on in silence; they had 
nothing to say. "They wept," we are told 

69 



JOAN OF ARC 

by a contemporary, "and not without cause, 
for they knew not whether for a long, long 
while they would have any king in France.'* 

A few days before this, on October thirtieth, 
Charles the Dauphin had assumed the title of 
king, and at a high mass in the cathedral of 
Bourges had made his first royal communion. 
"The king of Bourges," those of the Anglo- 
Burgundian party called him; none of them 
thought he would ever be anything else. He 
was twenty years old at this time. We shall 
make his personal acquaintance later; our busi- 
ness now is with the country over which he 
assumed sovereignty. 

Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, did not 
attend the funeral of his late master; he had 
no idea of yielding precedence to John of Bed- 
ford. He sent chamberlains and excuses; was 
England's faithful ally, he protested, but was 
very busy at home. 

The war meantime was going on as best it 
might. There were various risings in Charles's 
favor: in Paris itself, in Troyes, in Rheims; 
all put down with a strong hand. At Rheims, 
the superior of the Carmelite friars was ac- 
cused of favoring the banished prince; he did 

70 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

not deny it, and declared stoutly, *'Never was 
English king of France, and never shall be I" 
In Paris, several citizens were beheaded, and 
one woman burned; with little effect save on 
the sufferers themselves. 

There was fighting in the field, too; here a 
skirmish, there an ambuscade, here again some- 
thing that might pass for a battle. At Crevent- 
sur-Yonne, at Verneuil, the French (as we 
must now call Charles's followers) were de- 
feated; at La Gravelle they were victorious. 
A pretty thing happened in connection with this 
last battle. In a castle hard by the field lived 
Anne de Laval, granddaughter of Bertrand du 
Guesclin. Hearing the clash of arms, seeing 
from her tower, it may be, French and English 
set in battle array, the lady sent for her twelve- 
year-old son, Andrew de Laval, and with trem- 
bling, yet eager hands, buckled round him the 
sword of the great Breton captain. 

*'God make thee as valiant," she said, "as 
he whose sword this was!'* and sent him to 
the field. The boy did good service that day; 
was knighted on the field of battle, and lived 
to carry out, as marshal of France, the promise 
of his childhood. 

71 



JOAN OF ARC 

Far north, perched like an eagle on a crag 
above the sea, stood Mont St, Michel au peril 
de la mer, the virgin fortress-abbey; a sacred 
spot even under the Druids; these many hun- 
dred years now one of the holy places of 
France, under special patronage of St. Michael, 
the archangel of Joan's vision. England 
greatly desired this coign of vantage; made 
overtures thereanent to the abbot, Robert 
Jollvet, who listened and finally promised to 
surrender the place to them. He went to 
Rouen to conclude the bargain. No sooner was 
he safely out of the abbey than the chapter of 
valiant monks elected one of their number, 
John Enault, vicar-general, shut and barred the 
gate (there was but one), raised the portcullis, 
and bade defiance to abbot and English. The 
latter found that the friendly churchman had 
exaggerated his own powers, and theirs. Sur- 
rounded by wide-spreading quicksands, its 
sheer walls buffeted day and night by the At- 
lantic surges, Mont St. Michel could be taken 
only by treachery, and the one traitor was now 
safely barred out. Aided by some valiant Nor- 
man warriors who chanced to be in the abbey 
on pilgrimage or other business, the monks of 

72 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

St. Michael, worthy of their warlike patron, 
held their fortress for eight long years against 
all assaults, preserving it inviolate for their 
rightful king. 

Far to southward, La Rochelle, "proud city 
of the waters,'* made like resistance to the 
invaders. The Rochellals knew the English of 
old. John Lackland had landed there when 
he came in 12 14 to try to recover certain lands 
seized by Philip Augustus shortly before. It 
remained in English hands till 1224, when it 
was captured by Louis VIIL; was restored by 
treaty to the English in 1360; finally shook off 
the foreign yoke in Du Guesclln's time. Now 
it was one of the great maritime cities of 
France, its mariners sailing all seas, hardy and 
bold as Drake or Magellan. 

On August 15th, 1427, an English fleet of 
one hundred and twenty sail appeared off the 
port, bringing troops for an Invasion. La 
Rochelle promptly strengthened her defences, 
laid a heavy tax on herself to meet expenses, 
and sent out a fleet of armed privateers to meet 
the invaders, who, after some deliberation, 
withdrew without attempting to land. 

Tired of this war of wasps — a sting, a 

73 



JOAN OF ARC 

flight, a sting again — John of Bedford resolved 
to strike a decisive blow, one which should 
bring the wasps' nest down once and for all. 
The blow fell upon Orleans. 

Royal Orleans (several kings were con- 
secrated in its cathedral and lodged in its 
palaces) lies on the right bank of the Loire, 
one of the sacred cities of France. It had been 
besieged before, in 451, by Attila, the Hun 
of the period, who failed to gain entrance. 
Forty-odd years later, Clovis got possession of 
the city, and held there the first Council of 
France. Philip of Valois made it a separate 
duchy; Charles VI. gave it to his brother 
Louis, and the House of Orleans came into 
existence. 

The city stretched along the river bank some 
nine hundred yards, and back to a depth of 
six hundred yards; was protected by a wall 
from twenty to thirty feet high, with parapet, 
machicolations, and twenty-four towers; and 
on all sides — except that of the river — ^by a 
ditch forty feet wide and twenty feet deep. 
The river was spanned by a bridge three hun- 
dred and fifty yards long, the centre resting 
on an island, its further end protected by a 

74 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

small fortress called Les Tourelles, which in 
its turn was covered by a strong earthwork 
known as tht boulevard. 

Now, in the autumn of 1428, all eyes were 
turned on the city, and on the ring of "bastilles" 
(palisaded earthworks) surrounding it, com- 
manding every approach. In these bastilles 
and in the camps stretching beyond them on 
every side, the English commanders were 
gathered: Salisbury, Suffolk, Talbot, Scales, 
Fastolf. Inside the city walls v/ere Dunois, La 
Hire, Xaintrailles, La Fayette — beside these 
the citizens fought with desperate courage. On 
both sides captains and soldiers girded them- 
selves for a struggle which all felt must be a 
decisive one. Assault on one side, sortie on 
the other, began and continued briskly. Salis- 
bury with his curious copper cannon (throwing 
stone balls of one hundred and fifty pounds' 
weight a distance of seven hundred yards) bat- 
tered the walls and rained shot into the city: 
the besieged replied with boiling oil, lime, and 
the like, with which the women of Orleans kept 
them supplied. The fight raged with greatest 
violence round the Tourelles, which English 
and French were equally determined to take 

75 



JOAN OF ARC 

and to keep. After being battered almost to 
pieces, it was finally captured by the besiegers, 
but at terrible cost. On the eighth day of the 
siege (October) Salisbury, standing by an em- 
brasure in one of its towers, was struck on the 
head by a stone ball from a French cannon, 
and died soon after. This was a heavy loss to 
the English. On the other hand. Sir John 
Fastolf, convoying provisions for the English, 
completely routed a party of French, who sallied 
out to intercept him. Lent was near, and pru- 
dent Sir John had procured a large supply of 
salt herrings; these, scattered over the field 
in every direction, gave the skirmish its name, 
the Battle of the Herrings. Most of the prov- 
ender was brought safely into camp, rejoicing 
greatly the hearts of the English. But the city 
managed to get victualed too. One day six 
hundred pigs were driven in, spite of cannon 
and mortar; another day two hundred, and 
forty beeves; but the day after they lost five 
hundred head of cattle and "the famous light 
field-piece of that master gunner, Jean the Lor- 
rainer."^ A merry wag, this John of Lorraine : 
his jests flew as fast as his balls. Now and 

*A. Lang, "Maid of France," p. 63. 

76 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

then he would drop beside his gun, and be 
carried off apparently dead. Shouts of joy 
would go up from the English : in the midst of 
which, John would "bob up serenely" bowing 
and smiling, and would go to work again. 

So, back and forth, the tide ebbed and 
flowed, while the winter dragged on. A 
leisurely, almost a cheerful siege ; Andrew Lang 
thinks the fighting was "not much more serious 
than the combats with apples and cheeses, in 
the pleasant land of Torelore, as described in 
the old romance of Aucasstn and Nicolete.'^^ 
He quotes the Monk of Dunfermline, "a mys- 
terious Scots chronicler,"^ as saying that the 
English camp was like a great fair, with booths 
for the sale of all sorts of commodities, and 
with sunk ways leading from one fort to 
another. 

All this time, under cover of the desultory 
shooting, the English were drawing the ring 
of fortifications closer and closer yet about 
the city. In the gloomy days of February, the 
citizens began to lose heart. No more pro- 
visions came in. Dunois, now their leader, a 
natural son of Louis of Orleans, and the brav- 

* Andrew Lang. "Maid of France," p. 63. 

77 



JOAN OF ARC 

est heart in France save one, was wounded. 
People began to leave the city, stealthily, under 
cover of night. The bishop left; Clermont, 
who had lost the Battle of the Herrings, stole 
away, taking two thousand men with him: the 
admiral and chancellor of France "thought it 
would be a pity to have the great officers of the 
crown taken by the English, and went too." ^ 

Dunois sent La Hire to the Dauphin at 
Chinon, begging for men, money, food. The 
receiver-general, he was told, had not four 
crowns in his chest. Charles kept the mes- 
senger to dinner, and regaled him with a fowl 
and a sheep's tail. La Hire returning empty- 
handed, Dunois in desperation sent to Philip 
of Burgundy, begging him to take the city 
under his protection. Philip of Burgundy, 
always distracted between his hatred of the 
Dauphin and his fear of the growing power of 
the English, sent a message asking the Duke of 
Bedford to raise the siege; but this John of 
Bedford was In nowise minded to do. 

"We are not here to champ the morsels 
for Burgundy to swallow I" said one of his 
advisers. 

^ Michelet. "Histoire de France/' 
78 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

"Nay! nay!" assented Duke John. "We 
will not beat the bushes for another to take 
the birds!" 

High words ensued, and Philip withdrew his 
men from the siege. John cared little, had 
plenty without them. English and French, all 
thought the city was doomed: through all 
France men sighed and wept over its approach- 
ing fall; and across the Channel, in the White 
Tower, the captive lord of Orleans wept with 
them, and tuned his harp to songs of grief. 

L'un ou I'autre desconfira 
De mon cueur et Merencolie; 
Auquel que fortune s'alye, 
L'autre "je me rens" lui dira. 

D'estre juge me suffira 
Pour mettre fin en leur folye; 
L'un ou Tautre desconfira 
De mon cueur et Merencolie. 

Dieu scet comment mon cueur rira 
Se gaigne, menant chiere lye; 
Contre ceste saison jolye, 
On verra comment en yra: 
L'un ou l'autre desconfira. 

— Charles d* Orleans. 

April was come, and the end seemed near, 
when whispers began to creep about. A bird 

79 



JOAN OF ARC 

of the air carried the matter, a wind of the 
forest breathed it . Help was coming. A 
marvel had come to light: a holy Maid (or an 
accursed witch : it depended on which camp you 
were in!) had arisen, had visited the Dauphin 
at Chinon : was coming to rescue Orleans from 
its besiegers. Like wildfire the rumor spread. 
Brave Dunois listened, and his heart beat 
faster, recalling the prophecy. ^'France lost 
by a woman shall be saved by a woman!" 
Could it be? Was Heaven, after all, on the 
side of France? 

The English listened too; not the King, for 
he was, we will hope, sleeping comfortably in 
his cradle at Windsor; but John of Bedford 
in Paris (not in that haunted Palace of St. 
Paul, but in the more cheerful one of Les 
Tourelles across the way) ; and before Or- 
leans, his lieutenants, Suffolk, Talbot, Scales, 
and the rest. These gentlemen were amused. 
The Dauphin must be fallen low Indeed to 
avail himself of such aid. They made merry in 
the English camp, and laugh and jest went 
round at the expense of their sorry adversary, 
clinging to the red petticoat of a peasant girl 

80 



THE EMPTY THRONE 

(for so rumor described her) for succor and 
relief. 

Suddenly, one April day, the laughter ceased. 
A letter was brought Into the camp : a message 
brief and sharp as a sword-thrust greeted the 
astonished captains. 

**Jesii Maria/^ thus It began: 

"King of England, account to the King of 
Heaven for His blood royal. Give up to the 
Maid the keys of all the good towns you have 
taken by force. She Is come from God to 
avenge the blood royal, and quite ready to 
make peace, if you will render proper account. 
If you do not so, I am a war-chief; in whatso- 
ever place I shall fall In with your folk in 
France, If they be not willing to obey, I shall 
make them get thence, whether they will or 
not; and if they be willing to obey, I will re- 
ceive them to mercy. . . . I'he Maid cometh 
from the King of Heaven as His representa- 
tive, to thrust you out of France; she doth 
promise and certify you that she will make 
therein such mighty haha (great tumult), that 
for a thousand years hitherto In France was 
never the like. . . . Duke of Bedford, who 
call yourself regent of France, the Maid doth 

81 



JOAN OF ARC 

pray you and request you not to bring destruc- 
tion on yourself; if you do not justice towards 
her, she will do the finest deed ever done in 
Christendom. 

*'Writ on Tuesday in the great week" 
(Easter week, March, 1429). Subscribed: 
*'Hearken to the news from God and the 
Maid:' ^ 

The hour was come, and the Maid. Let us 
go back a little, and see the manner of her 
coming. 

* Guizot. "History of France." 



CHAPTER VII 

VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

GO to Vaucouleurs!'* the Voices had said: 
*'go to Robert of Baudricourt, and bid 
him send thee to the Dauphin 1" Again and 
yet again, "Go!" 

Vaucouleurs, the 'Valley of color," is a little 
walled town on the Meuse, some thirteen 
miles from Domremy. Its narrow streets 
climb a steep hill to the castle, perched on its 
rock like an eagle's nest. In this castle, hold- 
ing the town partly for the Dauphin, but 
chiefly for himself, lived Robert of Baudri- 
court; a robber captain, neither more nor less. 
A step beyond the highwayman, since he had 
married a rich and noble widow, and had 
lived handsomely in (and on) Vaucouleurs for 
some twelve years; but still little more civi- 
lized than the band of rude and brutal soldiers 
under his command. It was from this man 
that the Maid was bidden to seek aid in her 
mission. 

83 



JOAN OF ARC 



She bethought her of a kinsman, Durand 
Laxart (or Lassois) living at Little Burey, 
a village near Vaucouleurs; asked and obtained 
leave of her parents to visit him. This was 
in May, 1428. She opened her mind to her 
"uncle'* (by courtesy: he was really only a 
cousin by marriage) and impressed him so 
much that he consented to bring her before the 
lord of the castle. 

Baudricourt looked at the comely peasant 
maid in her red stuff dress, probably with some 
interest at first; when she quietly informed him 
that God had bidden her to save France, and 
had sent her to him for help in the task, his 
interest changed to amused impatience. At 
first he laughed; but when he was called upon 
in God's name to send a message to the 
Dauphin his mood changed. 

"Let him guard himself well," the message 
ran, "and not offer battle to his foes, for the 
Lord will give him succor by mid-Lent." 

Now Lent was to fall in March of the com- 
ing year. 

"By God's will," the Maid added, "I myself 
will lead the Dauphin to be crowned." 

This was too much for the lord of Vau- 

84 



1 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

couleurs. Turning to Laxart, he said, "Give 
the wench a sound whipping and send her 
home!" and so dismissed the pair. 

Joan made no resistance; went back to 
Domremy and bided her time. We are to 
suppose that through the summer of 1428 she 
plied her faithful tasks at home, listening to 
her Voices, strengthening her purpose steadily 
in the quiet of her resolute heart. In October 
came the news that Orleans was besieged; and 
now once more the Voices grew urgent, im- 
perative ; yet again she must go to Vaucouleurs, 
yet again demand help of Robert of Baudri- 
court. This time the way was made easy for 
her. The wife of Durand Laxart was about 
to have a child, and needed help. There were 
no trained nurses then in the Meuse valley 
or anywhere else; it was the simple and 
natural thing for Joan to offer her services, 
and for the kinsfolk to accept them. January, 
1489, found her domiciled in the Laxart 
household, caring for the mother and the new- 
born child in her own careful, competent way. 

One day she told her kinsman that she must 
see My Lord of Baudricourt once more, and 
besought him to bear her company. He de- 

8s 



JOAN OF ARC 

murred; they had got little good of the first 
visit, he reminded her. 

"Do you not know," asked the girl, "the 
saying that France is to be made desolate by 
a woman and restored by a Maid?" and added 
that she must go "into France" and lead the 
Dauphin to Rheims for his coronation. Laxart 
had heard the prophecy; most people knew it, 
in the Meuse valley and elsewhere. He 
yielded, and once more the peasant man and 
maid made their way up the climbing street 
and appeared before the lord of the castle. 
We do not know that the second interview 
prospered much better than the first. Laxart 
says that Baudricourt bade him "more thaa 
once" to box the girl's ears and send her home 
to her father; but this time Joan did not go 
home. After spending several weeks with her 
cousin's family, she went to stay with a family 
named Royer, where she helped in the house- 
work, and "won the heart of her hostess by 
her gentle ways, her skill in sewing, and her 
earnest faith."^ 

This must have been a season of anguish 
for the Maid. France was dying: they thought 

*Lang. "Maid of France," p. 65. 

86 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

It then as they thought it in 191 8: she alone 
could save her country, and no man would give 
her aid, would even listen to her. Perhaps at no 
time — save at the last — Is the heroic quality 
of the Maid more clearly shown than in the 
meagre record of these weeks of waiting. 
How should she sit to spin, with saints and 
angels calling in her ear? How should she 
ply her needle, when the sword was waiting 
for her hand? But the needle flew swiftly, the 
spindle whirled diligently, and day and night 
her prayers went up to God. People recalled 
afterward how often they had seen her in the 
church of St. Mary on the hill above the town, 
kneeling in rapt devotion, her face now bowed 
in her hands, now lifted in passionate appeal. 
Courage, Joan! the time is near, and help Is 
coming. 

It was In February, 1429, that the first 
gleam of encouragement came to her. She met 
in the street a young man-at-arms named Jean 
de Metz, often called, from the name of his 
estate, Jean de Novelonpont. He had heard 
of her: probably by this time everyone in 
Vaucouleurs knew of her and her mission. 
Seeing her In her red peasant-dress, he stopped 

87 



JOAN OF ARC 

and said, *'Ma mie, what are you doing here? 
Must the King be walked out of his kingdom, 
and must we all be English?" 

Joan looked at him with her clear dark eyes. 

"I am come," she answered, ''to a Royal 
town to ask Robert de Baudricourt to lead me 
to the King. But Baudricourt cares nothing 
for me and for what I say; none the less I 
must be with the King by mid-Lent, if I wear 
my legs down to the knees. No man in the 
world — kings, nor dukes, nor the daughter of 
the Scottish king — can recover the kingdom of 
France, nor hath our king any succor save 
from myself, though I would liefer be sewing 
beside my poor mother. For this deed Is not 
convenient to my station. Yet go I must; and 
this deed I must do, because my Lord so 
wills It." 

"And who Is your Lord?" asked Jean de 
Metz: and the Maid replied, 

"My Lord Is Godl"^ 

Our hearts thrill to-day as we read the 
words; think how they fell on the ear of the 
young soldier there In the village street that 
winter day! He needed no voice of saint or 

* Trans. Andrew Lang. 
88 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

angel: this simple maiden's voice was enough. 
He held out his hand. 

"Then I, Jean, swear to you, Maid, my 
hand in your hands, that I, God helping me, 
will lead you to the King, and I ask when you 
will go?" 

"Better to-day than to-morrow: better to- 
morrow than later!" ^ was the reply. 

From that day forth, Jean de Metz was 
Joan's faithful friend and helper. 

What did she mean about help from Scot- 
land? Why, a year before the Dauphin had 
sent Alain Chartier the poet to Scotland to beg 
help of the ancient ally of France. Help was 
promised; six thousand men, to arrive before 
Whitsuntide; to form moreover a body-guard 
for the little Princess of Scotland, another 
Margaret, who was to marry little Louis, son 
of the Dauphin. Joan had heard rumors of 
all this; but what was a baby princess three 
hundred leagues away? She, the Maid, was 
on the spot. 

"Go boldly on!" said the Voices. "When 
you are with the King, he will have a sure 
sign to persuade him to believe and trust 
you." 

* Trans. Andrew Lang. 

89 



JOAN OF ARC 

As It fell out, the little princess did not come 
till seven years later: the six thousand men 
never came at all. 

At last Joan had a friend who could give 
real help. A few days more and she had 
two: Bertrand of Poulangy, another young 
soldier, heard and believed her story, and took 
his stand beside her and Jean de Metz. The 
three together renewed the attack on Robert 
de Baudrlcourt, this time with more success. 
Apparently this was not so simple a case as 
had appeared : whipping, ear-boxing, no longer 
seemed adequate. What to do? Puzzled and 
annoyed, Baudricourt bethought him of the 
spiritual arm. After all, what more simple 
than to find out whether this counsel was of 
God or the devil? One evening, we are told, 
he entered the humble dwelling of the Royers, 
accompanied by the parish priest. The latter, 
assuming his stole, addressed the Maid in 
solemn tones. 

*'If thou be a thing of evil," he said, "be- 
gone from us! If a thing of good, ap- 
proach us !" 

Joan had knelt when the good father put 
on his garb of office; now, still on her knees, 

90 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

slowly and painfully (but with head held 
high, we may fancy) she made her way for- 
ward to where the priest stood. She was not 
pleased. It was ill-done of Father Fournier, 
she said afterward; had he not heard her fully 
in confession? It may be — who knows? — that 
the cure took this way to convince the lord 
of Baudricourt of her truth and virtue: be it 
as it may, Robert de Baudricourt no longer 
laughed at the peasant girl in her red dress; 
but still he was not ready to help her, and 
she could wait no longer. She resolved to 
walk to Chinon, where the Dauphin was; she 
borrowed clothes from her cousin Laxart, now 
for the first time assuming male attire; and 
so took her way to the shrine of St. Nicholas, 
on the road to France. 

Now it took a horseman eleven days to ride 
from Vaucouleurs to Chinon; Joan soon real- 
ized that to make the journey on foot would 
be wasting precious time; she returned to 
Vaucouleurs, saddened, but no whit discour- 
aged. About this time the Duke of Lorraine 
heard of the Maid who saw visions and heard 
voices. Being old and infirm and more inter- 
ested in his own ailments than in those of the 

91 



JOAN OF ARC 

kingdom, he sent for Joan as we send for a 
new doctor who has cured our neighbor; sent 
moreover a letter of safe conduct, an important 
thing in those days. Here was Opportunity 
knocking at the door! A horse was bought — 
it is not clear by whom — and Joan and the 
faithful *'uncle," accompanied by Jean de Metz, 
rode off in high hopes to Nancy, seventy miles 
away. Alas! here again disappointment 
awaited her. The Duke related his symptoms 
and asked for advice; hinted that perhaps a 
little miracle, even, might be performed ? Such 
things had been done by holy maids before 
now! Joan told him briefly that she knew 
nought of these matters. Let him lend her his 
son-in-law, and men to lead her into France, 
and she would pray for his health. The son- 
in-law was Rene of Anjou, later known as the 
patron of minstrels and poets; an interesting 
if a somewhat fantastic figure. At this time 
his duchy of Bar was being so harried by 
French and English indiscriminately that he 
might well cry, "A plague of both your 
houses!" Certainly he gave no help to Joan. 
The old Duke of Lorraine gave her a black 
horse, some say, and a small sum of money; 

92 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

and so a second time, she returned to Vau- 
couleurs. 

But now the town itself was roused. Every 
one by this time knew the Maid and had heard 
of her mission. Since that visit of the cure 
they held her in reverence ; moreover, the news 
from Orleans grew worse and worse. The 
fall of the city was looked for any day, and 
with it would fall the kingdom. Since all else 
had failed, why not let the Maid prove her 
Voices to be of God? 

We know not what pressure, apart from 
Joan's own burning words (for she never 
ceased her appeals), was brought to bear on 
Robert de Baudricourt. At last, and most 
reluctantly, he yielded; gave consent that Joan 
should seek the Dauphin at Chinon; gave her 
even, it would seem, a letter to the prince, 
testifying some belief in her supernatural 
powers. The good people of Vaucouleurs put 
together their pennies and bought a suit of 
clothes for her; man's clothes, befitting one 
who was undertaking a man's work. Thus 
equipped, on the twelfth of February, 1429, 
Joan of Arc rode out of Vaucouleurs to save 
France. Beside her, on either side, rode her 

93 



JOAN OF ARC 

two faithful squires, Jean de Metz and Bert- 
rand de Poulangy, with their servants; two 
more men, ^'Richard the Archer," and Colet 
de Vienne, a king's messenger, joined the little 
band; in all six rode out of the Gate of 
France. At the gate, Robert de Baudricourt, 
moved for once, we may hope, out of his 
boisterous sardonic humor, gave the Maid a 
sword; and as the adventurers passed on, he 
cried after them: ^^Allez! et vienne que 
pourraF* ("Go! and come what come may!") 

What awaited the Maid in "white Chinon 
by the blue Vienne?" Let us see! 

Pantagruel suggests that the city of the 
Plantagenets was founded by Cain, and named 
for him, but this theory is more literary than 
accurate. A strong little city, Chinon, from 
the days when Fulk Nerra, the Black Falcon, 
rode on his wild raids and built his crescent 
line of fortresses from Anjou to Amboise, 
cutting the "monstrous cantle" of Touraine 
from the domains of Blois. A fierce little 
city, looking down on furious quarrels of 
Angevin princes, French and so-called English. 
Here died Henry II. of England, men said 
of a broken heart, muttering, "Shame, shame, 

94 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

on a conquered king!" Here came Richard 
Yea-and-Nay to look on his father's body, 
which men said streamed blood as he ap- 
proached it. Here John Lackland lived for a 
while with his French wife, no more beloved 
than he was elsewhere. Here, on Midsummer 
Eve, 1305, Philip Augustus entered victorious, 
and soon after English rule in France came 
to an end for the time. Here, in 1309, Jacques 
de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights 
Templar, was tried by a council of cardinals, 
set on by Charles of Valois, first of the name, 
who was in sore need of money and coveted 
the rich possessions of the great order. 
Master and many knights were burned (in 
Paris, not in the place of their trial) and the 
Order was dissolved. 

More important, it may be, in the long 
sequence of human events, than any of these 
matters, here in 1483, was born Maitre 
Francois Rabelais, whose statue still looks 
kindly down on the city of his love. **Ville 
insigne, ville noble, ville antique, voire premiere 
du monde^^^ ^ he calls it. He remains king of 

* Famous city, noble city, ancient city, verily first of 
earth. 

95 



JOAN OF ARC 

it, however many crowned or uncrowned pup- 
pets may have flaunted It there by the blue 
Vienne. 

In this year 1429, Charles the Dauphin was 
holding In Chlnon his shadowy court. This 
deplorable prince, a king of shreds and patches, 
if ever one lived, was now twenty-seven years 
old, and had never done anything In particular 
except to pursue pleasure and to escape danger. 
Accounts differ as to his personal appearance. 
Monstrelet, his contemporary, calls him **a 
handsome prince, and handsome In speech with 
all persons, and compassionate toward poor 
folk"; but Is constrained to add *'he did not 
readily put on his harness, and he had no 
heart for war If he could do without it." 
Another chronicler gives a less favorable ac- 
count of his appearance. "He was very ugly, 
with small gray wandering eyes; his nose was 
thick and bulbous, his legs bony and bandy; 
his thighs emaciated, with enormous knock- 
knees." Yet another dwells on his physical 
advantages, and his kindness of manner, which 
won the favor of the people. It does not 
greatly matter now what he looked like. When 
a flame springs up and lights the sky, we do 

96 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

not scrutinize the match that struck out the 
spark. 

There he was at Chinon, surrounded by 
courtiers and favorites (chief among them La 
Tremoille, *'the evil genius of king and coun- 
try") amusing himself as best he might 

"Never a king lost his kingdom so gaily I" 
said La Hire. One of Joan's biographers ^ says 
of him: "Weak in body and mind, idle, lazy, 
luxurious, and cowardly, he was naturally the 
puppet of his worst courtiers, and the despair 
of those who hoped for reform" ; and he quotes 
the burning words addressed by Juvenal des 
Ursins to his master, when king of France: 
"How many times have poor human creatures 
come to you to bewail the grievous extortion 
practiced upon them! Alas, well might they 
cry, *Why sleepest thou, O Lord!' But they 
could arouse neither you nor those about you." 

Charles was not always gay: he was subject 
to fits of deep depression, when he despaired 
of crown and kingdom, questioning even his 
right to either. Son of a mad father and a 
bad mother, was he indeed the rightful heir? 
In these moods he would leave his parasite 

'Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 55. 

97 



JOAN OF ARC 

court and weep and pray apart. A pitiable 
creature, altogether. 

Word was brought to Charles on a day that 
a young maid was at the gate, asking to see 
him; a maid in man's attire, riding astride a 
horse and five men-at-arms with her. Here 
was a strange matter! Charles had heard 
nothing of maids or missions. While he de- 
bated the matter with La Tremoille (to whom, 
by the way, he had pledged Chinon for what- 
ever it would bring) and the rest, came a letter 
from the Maid herself, dictated by her and 
sent on before, but delayed or neglected till 
now. She asked permission to enter his town 
of Chinon, for she had ridden one hundred 
and fifty leagues to tell him "things useful to 
him and known to her." ^ She would recognize 
him, she said, among all others. 

Charles was puzzled: the courtiers shook 
their heads. Suppose this were a witch! For 
the Dauphin to receive a witch would be at 
once dangerous and discreditable. Let the 
young woman be examined, to find out whether, 
if she were really inspired, her inspiration were 
of heaven or of hell. Accordingly "certain 

*Lang. "Maid of France," p. 76. 
98 



VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 

clerks and priests, men expert In discerning 
good spirits from bad," ^ visited Joan in the 
humble Inn where she waited, and questioned 
her closely. She answered briefly; she could 
not speak freely save to the Dauphin alone. 
She had been sent to relieve Orleans and lead 
the prince to Rhelms, there to be crowned king. 
This was all she had to say: but her simple 
faith, her transparent purity, so impressed the 
examiners, that they made a favorable report. 
There was no harm In the Maid, and since she 
professed to be the bearer of a divine message, 
it would be well for the Dauphin to receive 
her. Very reluctantly, Charles consented, and 
finally, one evening, a message summoned Joan 
to the castle. 

* Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 57. 



CHAPTER VIII 

RECOGNITION 

Sera-elle point jamais trouvee 
Celle qui ayme Louyaulte? 
Eet qui a ferme voulente 
Sans avoir legiere pensee. 

II convient qu'elle soi criee 
Pour en savoir la verite. 
Sera-elle point jamais trouvee 
Celle qui ayme Louyaulte? 

Je croy bien qu'elle est deffiee 
Des aliez de Faulcete, 
Dont il y a si grant plante 
Que de paour elle s'est mussiee. 
Sera-elle point jamais trouvee? 

— Charles d' Orleans, 

IT was morning of March 6th, 1429, when 
Joan rode out between her two faithful 
squires to seek the Dauphin. Gladly she rode, 
her eyes fixed on those white towers of Chinon 
where her mission was to be accepted, where 
she was to consecrate herself anew to the re- 
demption of France. She felt no shadow of 
doubt; she never felt any, till her true work 

100 



RECOGNITION 

was done; yet, the old chronicles say, danger 
threatened her here at the outset. A band of 
outlaws, hearing of her approach, prepared an 
ambuscade, thinking to take the Maid and hold 
her for ransom. There they crouched in the 
woods hard by Chinon town, waiting; there 
they saw the little cavalcade draw near; the 
dark slender girl in her man's dress, the men- 
at-arms on either side; there they remained 
motionless, never stirring hand or foot, till the 
riders passed out of sight. Is it a true tale? 
If so, was it a miracle, as people thought then, 
the robbers held with invisible bonds, unable 
to stir hand or foot? Or was it — still greater 
marvel, perhaps — just the power of that up- 
lifted look, the white radiance of that face 
under the steel cap, which turned the men's 
hearts from evil thoughts to good? 

Another tale is vouched for by eyewit- 
nesses: how as the Maid rode over the bridge 
toward the city, a certain man-at-arms spoke 
to her in coarse and insulting language. 

"Alas!" said Joan; *'thou blasphemest thy 
God, and art so near thy death!" 

He was drowned shortly after, whether by 
accident or by his own act, seems uncertain. 

lOI 



JOAN OF ARC 

So the Maid came to Chinon, and after some 
further delay, was admitted, on the evening of 
March 29th, to the presence of the Dauphin. 

Chinon Castle Is In ruins to-day. Of the 
great hall on the first story nothing remains 
save part of the wall and the great fireplace 
of carved stone; yet even these are hardly 
needed to call up the scene that March evening. 
We can see the fire crackling under the fine 
chimney-piece, the dozens of torches flinging 
their fitful glare about the great hall where 
some three hundred knights were gathered. 
They were standing in knots here and there, 
whispering together, waiting, some hopefully, 
some scornfully, for this importunate visitor, 
the peasant girl of Domremy. In one of these 
knots stood Charles of Valols, far less splen- 
didly dressed than some of his followers. He 
made no sign when Joan entered the hall, led 
by the high steward, Louis of Bourbon, Count 
of Vendome : but his eyes, all eyes In that hall, 
were fixed curiously on the slender figure clad 
in black and gray, which advanced modestly 
yet boldly. 

Joan of Arc was now seventeen years old: 
tall and well made. Guy de Laval wrote of 

102 



RECOGNITION 

her to his mother: "She seems a thing all 
divine, de son faict, and to see her and hear 
her." Others call her "beautiful in face and 
figure," her countenance glad and smiling. 

"Elle est plaisante en faite et dite, 
Belle et blanche comme la rose," 

says the old mystery play of the siege of 
Orleans. 

Andrew Lang, the most sympathetic of her 
English biographers,^ v/rites thus of her ap- 
pearance: 

"Her hair was black, cut short like a 
soldier's; as to her eyes and features, having 
no information, we may conceive of them as 
we please. Probably she had grey eyes, and 
a clear pale colour under the tan of sun and 
wind. She was so tall that she could wear a 
man's clothes, those, for example, of Durand 
Lassois." 

There is no authentic likeness of the Maid; 
she never sat for her portrait; yet who is 
there that cannot picture to himself that slender 
figure, in the black pourpoint, with the short 

*N. B.— He was a Scot! 
103 



JOAN OF ARC 

gray cloak thrown back over her shoulder, 
coming forward to meet and greet the Prince 
to whom she was to give a kingdom, receiving 
in return a felon's grave? 

Accounts vary as to the scene that followed. 
Some chroniclers say that Joan asked that "she 
should not be deceived, but be shown plainly 
him to whom she must speak"; others assert 
that Charles turned aside at her approach, 
effacing himself, as it were, behind some of his 
followers. However it was, Joan showed no 
hesitation, but went directly up to the Prince 
and made obeisance humbly. 

^'Gentle Dauphin," she said, "I am called 
Joan the Maid. The King of Heaven sendeth 
you word by me that you shall be anointed and 
crowned in the city of Rheims, and shall be 
lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is 
King of France. It is God's pleasure that our 
enemies, the English, should depart to their 
own country; if they depart not, evil will come 
to them, and the kingdom is sure to continue 
yours." 

Charles listened, impressed but not yet con- 
vinced. He talked with her a little, and sent 
her back to her lodging (in a tower of th^ 

104 



RECOGNITION 

castle this time, in charge of "one William 
Bellier, an officer of the castle, and his wife, 
a matron of character and piety" ^) without 
making any definite answer. This was hard 
for the Maid to bear; she knew there was no 
time to lose; yet she went patiently; she was 
used to waiting, used to rebuffs. There in her 
tower lodging, many visitors came to her: 
churchmen, with searching questions as to her 
orthodoxy; captains, no less keen in inquiry as 
to her knowledge of arms: finally, "certain 
noble dames," deputed by the Dauphin, to 
determine whether she were pure virgin or no. 
Doubtless these many persons came in many 
moods; they all left in one; the Maid was a 
good Maid, gentle and simple: there was no 
harm in her. Again and again she sought 
audience of the Dauphin. She could do nothing 
with a printed page, but the heart of a man, 
especially of this man, was easy reading for 
her. 

"Gentle Dauphin," she said to him one day, 
"why do you not believe me? I say unto you 
that God hath compassion on you, your king- 
dom, and your people; St. Louis and Charle- 

^ Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 57. 

los 



JOAN OF ARC 

magne are kneeling before Him, making prayer 
for you, and I will say unto you, so please 
you, a thing which will give you to understand 
that you ought to believe me.'* ^ 

One day, after mass, Charles led her into 
a chamber apart, where were only La Tre- 
moille and one other. He was in one of his 
dark moods, his mind full of doubts and fears. 
Was he after all the rightful heir? In his 
closet that morning, he had prayed that if the 
kingdom were justly his, God might be pleased 
to defend it for him; if not, that he might 
find refuge in Scotland or in Spain. Joan, we 
may fancy, read all this in his face that day 
in the castle chamber. Taking him aside, she 
spoke long and earnestly. 

'What she said to him there is none who 
knows," wrote Alain Chartler the poet soon 
after, "but it is quite certain that he was all 
radiant with joy thereat as at a revelation from 
the Holy Spirit." 

Well he might be! on the authority of her 
Voices, "on behalf of her Lord," the Maid 
declared him true heir of France, and son of 

'Guizot, III, 96. 
106 



RECOGNITION 

the king." From that moment we may per- 
haps date the belief of Charles In her mission. 

One other, I said, besides Charles and La 
Tremo'ille, was present at the Interview. This 
was the young Duke of Alengon, son-in-law of 
Charles of Orleans. He was then twenty 
years of age, as gallant and careless a lad as 
might be. At fifteen he had been taken 
prisoner in battle: was ransomed two years 
later, spite of his refusal to acknowledge 
Henry VI. King of France; had since then 
been living on his estate, amusing himself and 
taking little thought of the distracted country. 
He was shooting quails one day when word 
came of a mysterious Maid who had appeared 
before the King, claiming to be sent by God to 
drive out the English, and raise the siege of 
Orleans. Here, for once, was something in- 
teresting in these tiresome squabbles of Bur- 
gundlan and Armagnac; something, it might 
be, more exciting than quail-shooting. He took 
horse and rode to Chlnon; sought his cousin 
Charles, and found him deep in talk with the 
Maid herself. 

*'Who is this?'* asked Joan. 

107 



JOAN OF ARC 

*'It Is the Duke of Alengon," replied the 
Dauphin. 

She turned to Alengon with her own simple 
grace. 

*'You are very welcome,'' she said. *'The 
more princes of the blood that are here to- 
gether, the better." 

Alencon, warm and chivalrous by nature, felt 
none of the doubts which beset the Dauphin; 
he was charmed with the Maid, and she with 
him: it was friendship at first sight, and "the 
gentle duke," as she called him, became her 
sworn brother in arms. 

Charles was now inclined to take Joan and 
her mission seriously, spite of the indifference 
(later to develop into bitter hostility) of La 
Tremoille. She had fired the despondent cap- 
tains with hope of saving Orleans; had won 
the hearts of the court ladies, had satisfied the 
confessors of her orthodoxy; last and most 
Important, she had performed what seemed to 
him a miracle in reading his thoughts. But 
nothing must be done hastily. In so Important 
a matter, every authority must' be consulted; 
it must be established beyond peradventure that 
this Maid was of God and not of Satan. 

io8 



RECOGNITION 

Paris was Inaccessible, held by John of Bedford 
for his baby King: but at Poitiers was a Uni- 
versity with many wise and holy men; was also 
a court or parliament of sorts, where law 
might be demonstrated if not enforced by 
learned lawyers and jurists. At Poitiers, If 
anywhere In Charles's pasteboard realm, the 
question might be decided: to Poitiers Joan 
should go. 

Fifty miles: two days' ride, and Orleans in 
the death-struggle ! 

*To Poitiers?" cried the Maid. "In God's 
name I know I shall have trouble enough; but 
let us be going!" 

She had had already trouble enough, more 
than enough, with lawyers and priests. She 
saw no sense In them. They droned on and 
on, splitting hairs, piling question on argu- 
ment, when all she asked was a small company 
of men-at-arms; when her time was so short; 
when the Voices bade her go, go, go to save 
the city! 

Small wonder if she lost patience now and 
then In the days that followed at Poitiers. 
They compassed her about on every side. Pro- 
fessors of Theology and of Law. 

109 



JOAN OF ARC 

"What brought you to the King?'* asked one. 
She answered proudly, "A Voice came to me 
while I was herding my flock, and told me that 
God had great pity on the people of France, 
and that I must go into France." 

"If God wishes to deliver France," said 
another, "He does not need men-at-arms." 

"In God's name," said the Maid, "the men- 
at-arms will fight, and God will give the 
victory." 

"What language does the Voice speak?" 

This questioner, a Carmelite friar, spoke the 
dialect of Limoges, his native province, and 
Joan answered briefly: 

"A better one than yours!" 

"Do you believe in God?" the friar persisted. 

"More firmly than you do!" 

Joan then foretold the future as she saw it. 
She would summon the English and, they re- 
fusing to submit, would force them to raise the 
siege of Orleans. After this the Dauphin 
would be crowned at Rheims; Paris would 
rally to his standard; finally, the Duke of 
Orleans would return from England. All these 
things happened, but only the first two were 

no 



RECOGNITION 

seen by Joan's mortal eyes. Her time was 
short, indeed. 

For six weeks now she had been examined, 
by priest and clerk, jurist and soldier, noble 
ladies and village matrons: and like her great 
Exemplar, no harm had been found in her. 
She had, it was true, given no "sign," but this 
she promised to do before Orleans, for so God 
commanded her. In God's name, therefore, 
she was bidden to proceed on her mission; was 
sent to Tours, thence to proceed, when suit- 
ably armed and equipped, to Orleans. 

It Is pleasant to read of a little interlude 
during this time of waiting: a visit made by 
Joan at St. Florent, the castle of the duke of 
Alengon. The mother and wife of the duke 
received her with open arms, and "God knows," 
says the family chronicler, "the cheer they 
made her during the three or four days she 
spent in the place." 

The young Duchess was Joan of Orleans, 
daughter of the captive poet-duke: it was her 
own city that this wondrous Maid was come 
to save. A girl herself, generous, ardent, 
small wonder that she opened her arms. She 
confided to Joan her fears for her soldier- 

III 



JOAN OF ARC 

husband. He had been taken once by the 
English, had been absent several years: it had 
been bitter hard to raise the money for his 
ransom. 

*'Have no fear, my lady!" said the Maid. 
*'I will bring him safe back to you, as well 
as he now is, or even better." 

One would fain linger a little over this visit. 
There were so few pleasures for Joan, so little 
of all that girlhood commonly takes as its 
bright, unquestionable right. I like to think 
of the two girls together : the duchess probably 
in huque and hennin (whereof more anon), the 
Maid in the page's dress which she wore when 
not in armor. She loved bright colors and 
pretty things, as well as the other girl. She 
was only seventeen, "fair and white as the 
white rose." God help thee, sweet Maid! 

The days in Tours were brief and happy 
for Joan. She was accepted: she had started 
on her way; she could well wait, watching and 
praying, while her suit of white armor was 
made. Andrew Lang tells us that "the armour 
Included a helmet, which covered the head to 
its junction with the neck, while a shallow cup 
of steel protected the chin, moving on the 

112 



RECOGNITION 

same hinge as the salade — a screen of steel 
which in battle was drawn down over the face 
to meet the chin-plate, and, when no danger 
was apprehended, was turned back, leaving the 
face visible. A neck-piece or gorget of five 
overlapping steel plates covered the chest as 
far as the breastbone, where it ended in a 
point, above the steel corslet, which itself ap- 
parently was clasped in front, down the centre, 
ending at the waist. The hip joints were 
guarded by a band, consisting of three over- 
lapping plates of steel; below this, over each 
thigh, was a kind of skirt of steel, open in the 
centre for freedom in riding. There were 
strong thick shoulderplates ; yet one of these 
was pierced through and through by an arrow 
or crossbow bolt, at close quarters, when 
Jeanne was mounting a scaling ladder in the 
attack on the English fort at the bridge-head 
of Orleans. The steel sleeves had plates with 
covered hinges to guard the elbows; there 
were steel gauntlets, thigh-pieces, knee-joints, 
greaves, and steel shoes. The horse, a heavy- 
weight-carrier, had his chamfron of steel, and 
the saddle rose high at the pommel and behind 
the back. A hucque, or cloak of cloth of gold, 

113 



JOAN OF ARC 

velvet, or other rich material, was worn over 
the armour. For six days continuously Jeanne 
bore this weight of steel, It Is said, probably 
in the campaign of Jargeau and Pathay. Her 
exploits were wrought, and she received her 
wounds, while she was leading assaults on 
fortified places, standard in hand." 

No sword was made for Joan at Tours ; her 
sword was elsewhere. Hear her tell about it I 

"While I was at Tours or Chinon, I sent 
to seek for a sword in the church of St. 
Catherine of Fierbois, behind the altar; and 
presently it was found, all rusty." 

Asked how she knew that the sword was 
there, she said: "It was a rusty sword in the 
earth, with five crosses on it, and I knew of 
it through my Voices. I had never seen the 
men who went to look for It. I wrote to the 
churchmen of Fierbois, and asked them to let 
me have it, and they sent it. It was not deep 
in the earth; it was behind the altar, as I 
think, but I am not certain whether it was in 
front of the altar or behind it. I think I wrote 
that it was behind It. When it was found, the 
clergy rubbed it, and the rust readily fell off. 
The man who brought it was a merchant of 

114 



RECOGNITION 

Tours who sold armour. The clergy of Fier- 
bols gave me a sheath; the people of Tours 
gave me two, one of red velvet, one of cloth of 
gold, but I had a strong leather sheath made 
for it." ' 

A household (etat) was provided for Joan 
by the Dauphin's command. She was to have 
a confessor, an equerry, two pages: the faith- 
ful Jean de Metz was her treasurer. Poulangy, 
the second (chronologically) of her knights, 
was also of the company. She asked for a 
standard: St. Margaret and St. Catherine, she 
told the Dauphin, had commanded her to take 
a standard and bear it valiantly. The King of 
Heaven was to be painted on it, said the 
crowned and gracious ladies. Furthermore, 
*'the world was painted on it" (which Andrew 
Lang takes to have been "the globe in the hand 
of our Lord"), an angel on either side. The 
stuff was white linen dotted with lilies: the 
motto Jesus Maria, In action, the Maid al- 
ways carried this standard, that she might 
"strike no man with the sword; she never slew 
any man. The personal blazon of the Maid 
was a shield azure with a white dove, bear- 

'Lang. "Maid of France, p. 99. 
115 



JOAN OF ARC 

ing In Its beak a scroll whereon was written, 
De par le Roy du cielJ* ^ 

So, at long last, the word was "Forward!" 
On March 6th, as we have seen, Joan of 
Arc left Vaucouleurs, a humble figure in black 
and gray, between two faithful but obscure 
men-at-arms; now, nine weeks later, she rides 
out in radiant armor, silver-white from head 
to foot, in her hand the snowy standard with 
Its sacred emblems, on either side nobles and 
dignitaries of the Court of France. So she 
rides, and the hearts of men follow her. 

*Lang. "Maid of France," p. 99. 



CHAPTER IX 

ORLEANS 

WE do not know the precise numbers of 
the army that Joan brought to the re- 
lief of Orleans; it was probably under four 
thousand men. Of the army already there, 
Dunois said that two hundred Englishmen 
could put to flight eight hundred or a thousand 
French. The latter were utterly discouraged 
and hardly attempted resistance. On the 
other hand the English, sure of their victory, 
had grown careless and lazy. True, they had 
pricked up their ears when word came of the 
Maid and her mission; but weeks passed, and 
nothing happened. When they chased the 
French the latter ran away as usual : they were 
somewhat bored, and thought it about time to 
finish, and wind up the siege. Inside the walls, 
people awaited the Maid as those who look 
for the morning. 

She left Tours, as we have seen, and came 
to Blois, where she was joined by La Hire, 

117 



JOAN OF ARC 

Gilles de Rais, and others. There was some 
delay here, owing to lack of money for the 
expenses of the journey. Charles had before 
this been obliged to pawn the ^'fleurons^' of 
his crown and the gold ornaments of his helmet 
to obtain ready money. By these means or 
others he now raised the needed sum, and the 
army, with its "great convoy of cattle and 
grain"^ moved on once more. A company of 
priests had joined them, and Joan Insisted that 
every man-at-arms must make confession be- 
fore going into action. When they left Blols 
the clergy went first, singing "Come, holy 
Spirit!" So, on April 28th, the Maid and 
her army found themselves opposite Orleans, 
on the other side of the river. Dunois, who 
had been watching from the battlements, took 
boat and went across to greet the Maid; he 
found her in angry mood. She had expected 
to find herself at the city gates, not with a 
broad and swift stream flowing between. 
Moreover, she had been suffering much pain 
from the weight of her armor, which she had 
worn all day. She greeted the leader abruptly. 
"Are you the Bastard of Orleans?" 

* Lang. 
118 



ORLEANS 

"I am, and right glad of your coming." 

"Was it you who gave counsel to come by 
this bank of the river, so that I cannot go 
straight against Talbot and the English?" 

''I, and others wiser than I, gave that coun- 
sel, and I think it the wiser way and the 
safer." 

"In God's name, the counsel of our Lord 
is wiser and safer than yours. You think to 
deceive me, and you deceive yourself, for I 
bring you better rescue than ever came to 
knight or city; the succor of the King of 
Heaven." 

Dunois himself says that as she spoke the 
words, "in a moment the wind, which was con- 
trary and strong, shifted and became favor- 
able." This, to the soldier's mind, was a 
manifest miracle. He begged Joan to cross 
with him. She demurred, not wishing to leave 
her army, which must return to Blois for 
another convoy. Without her they might go 
astray, might fall into sin, possibly might not 
return. Dunois persisted. Implored; the city 
was awaiting her; the need was desperate. 
Let the captains go without her ! Joan yielded 
to his entreaties; the captains departed, prom- 

119 



JOAN OF ARC 

ising to return in good time; the Maid crossed 
the river with a force of two hundred lances, 
the wind so favoring them that every third 
vessel towed two others. Seeing this, all the 
bystanders were of Dunois* mind; "A miracle 
of God!" 

So, about eight o'clock on the evening of 
April 29th, Joan of Arc entered Orleans. 

The *' Journal du Siege 3! Orleans!* kept by 
a citizen whose name is lost, thus describes 
the entry. The Maid rode "in full armor, 
mounted on a white horse, with her pennon 
carried before her, which was white, also, and 
bore two angels, each holding a lily in his 
hand; on the pennon was painted an Annuncia- 
tion. At her left side rode the Bastard of 
Orleans in armor, richly appointed, and behind 
her came many other noble and valiant lords 
and squires, captains and soldiers, with the 
burghers of Orleans who had gone out to 
escort her. At the gate there came to meet 
her the rest of the soldiers, with the men and 
women of Orleans, carrying many torches, and 
rejoicing as if they had seen God descend 
among them ; not without cause. For they had 
endured much weariness and labor and pain, 

120 



ORLEANS 

and, what is worse, great fear lest they should 
never be succored, but should lose both life 
and goods. Now all felt greatly comforted 
and, as it were, already unbesieged, through 
the divine virtue of which they had heard in 
this simple maid; whom they regarded right 
lovingly, both men and women, and likewise 
the little children. There was a marvelous 
press to touch her, and to touch even the horse 
on which she rode, while a torch-bearer came 
so near her pennon that it was set afire. 
Thereupon she struck her horse with her spurs 
and put out the fire, turning the horse gently 
toward the pennon, just as if she had been long 
a warrior, which the soldiers thought a very 
wonderful thing, and the burghers also. These 
accompanied her the whole length of the city 
with right good cheer, and with great honor 
they all escorted her to the house of James 
Boucher, treasurer of the Duke of Orleans, 
where she was received with great joy." ^ 

In this honored and patriarchal household, 
Joan, ^Venerated like an angel sent from 
heaven,'' passed the week of the Deliverance. 
It was to this friendly hearth that she went 

* Trans. F. C. Lowell. 
121 



JOAN OF ARC 

whenever a breathing-space allowed her to re- 
turn within the walls. 

At these times, the press of people about the 
house would almost break the doors in. The 
kindly household protected, cherished, revered 
their gentle guest. When Jacques Boucher 
died, some thirteen years later, the monument 
raised to his memory by his widow and children 
recorded, with his name and rank, the fact 
that he had received into his house, as a revered 
guest, "the Maid, by God's help the saviour 
of the city." 

On the evening of her arrival she supped 
on a few slices of bread dipped in wine and 
water. She begged that her host's daughter 
Charlotte, a child of ten years, might share 
her couch. Every morning, crossing the garden 
to the neighboring church, she assisted at mass, 
prayed for the relief of the city, and received 
with tears the holy communion. 

On Tuesday, May 3rd, a solemn procession, 
led by the Maid, went to the cathedral to 
pray for the deliverance of the city. Here she 
was met by a priest, "Dr. John of Mascon, a 
very wise man," who looked at her In pity and 
in wonder. 

122 



ORLEANS 

"My child," he asked, "are you come hither 
to raise the siege?" 

"In God's name, yes, my father!" 

The good father shook his head sadly. 

*'My child, they are strong, and strongly 
fenced; it would be a mighty feat of arms to 
dislodge them." 

"To the power of God," replied Joan, 
"nothing is impossible!" 

This was her word, on this and on all days. 

"Throughout the city," says the old chroni- 
cle, "she rendered honour to no one else!" 
The learned Doctor bowed his head, and from 
that moment accepted her as a messenger of 
God. 

The Maid's arrival was followed by a brief 
lull in hostilities. She would not raise her 
sword till she had duly summoned the enemy, 
and bidden him depart in peace. On April 
2nd she despatched the letter already quoted. 
The English replied promptly that if they caught 
the so-called Maid, they would burn her for 
a witch. In the evening of the same day, she 
went out on the bridge, and mounting on the 
barricades, called to Glasdale and his garrison, 
bidding them obey God and surrender, and 

123 



JOAN OF ARC 

promising to spare their lives if they would do 
so. They replied with a torrent of abuse and 
ridicule. "Milkmaid" was the gentlest term 
they had for her. They showed a bold front, 
Glasdale, Talbot, de la Pole and the rest; but 
they were ill at ease. They knew that their 
men were full of superstitious forebodings. 
They themselves were strangely shaken at sight 
of the slender girlish figure in snow-white 
armor, at sound of the clear ringing voice call- 
ing on them to fear God and yield to his 
Emissary. They could and did answer de- 
fiantly, but they attempted nothing more. On 
Monday, May 2d, Joan summoned them 
again, and again their only answer was gibes 
and insults. She rode out, a great multi- 
tude following her, to reconnoitre the enemy's 
position; rode about and about the various 
bastilles, noting every angle, every turret, every 
embrasure for cannon. The English watched 
her, but never stirred. Talbot, the old lion, 
victor in a score of fights, must have ground 
his teeth at the sight; but either he dared not 
trust his men, or else knew them to be out- 
numbered. He lay still, while the gallant 
little cavalcade, priests chanting in front, white- 

124 



ORLEANS 

robed Maid in the midst, lifting her snowy 
standard, delirious people thronging to touch 
her stirrup, swept past their camp, and re- 
entered the city. A bitter hour for John 
Talbot I 

Joan was delaying her attack till the army 
should return from Blols with the second con- 
voy. On May 3d they appeared; at dawn 
on the fourth, Joan rode out with five hundred 
men to meet them ; by noon all were safe within 
the walls, and the Maid sat down quietly to 
dinner with her faithful squire d'Aulon. They 
were still sitting when Dunois came in with 
news that Sir John Fastolf, the hero of the 
Battle of the Herrings, was but a day's march 
distant with provisions and reinforcements for 
the English. 

Joan received the tidings joyfully. "In 
God's name. Bastard," she said, "I charge you 
to let me know as soon as you hear of his 
arrival. Should he pass without my knowledge 
— I will have your head!" 

"Have no fear of that!" said Dunois. "You 
shall have the news the instant it comes." 

Weary with her ride, and her heavy armor, 
the Maid lay down beside her hostess to rest. 

125 



JOAN OF ARC 

D^Aulon curled up on a little couch in the corner 
of the room; both slept as tired people do. 

Suddenly the Maid sprang up, calling loudly 
to d'Aulon. 

"In God's name," she cried, "I must go 
against the English. My Voices call me; I 
know not whether it is against their forts, or 
Fastolf comes." 

Bewildered and full of sleep, d'Aulon and 
good Mme. Boucher helped her into her 
armor; even as they did so, voices rose in the 
street, crying that the English were attacking 
with great slaughter. She ran downstairs and 
met her page, Louis de Coulet. 

"Miserable boy," she cried; "the blood of 
France is shedding, and you do not call me? 
My horse on the instant!" 

The boy flew for the horse; the Maid 
mounted, calling for her banner, which he 
handed to her from an upper window, and rode 
off at full speed, squire and page following as 
best they might. 

It was not Fastolf. Unknown to the Maid, 
certain of the French had planned an attack on 
the fort of St. Loup, about a mile and a half 
from the town. Either ignorant or careless of 

126 



ORLEANS 

Dunois' promise to the Maid, they rode mer- 
rily to the attack, and surrounded the fort with 
warlike shouts. Out swarmed the English like 
angry bees; swords flashed; the struggle was 
sharp but brief. The French, with no adequate 
leader, gave back before the rush of the de- 
fenders; broke, turned, and were streaming 
pell-mell back toward the city, when they saw 
the Maid galloping toward them. Alone she 
rode; her snowy armor gleaming, her snowy 
standard fluttering. In the gateway she paused 
a moment at sight of a wounded man borne 
past by his comrades. She never could look 
on French blood without a pang: *'My hair 
rises for horror," she would say. But only a 
moment; the next, she had met the retreating 
troops; rallied them, led them once more to 
the assault. They followed her shouting, every 
man eager to ride beside her, or at least within 
sight of her, within sound of her silver voice. 
On to the fort once more! this time with God 
and the messenger of God! 

The English saw and in their turn faltered; 
wavered; gave back before the furious onset; 
broke and fled in disorder. The French pur- 
sued them to the fort, which they captured and 

127 



JOAN OF ARC 

burned. The church of St. Loup hard by had 
already been partly destroyed, but Joan for- 
bade the plundering of it, and spared the lives 
of certain English soldiers who had thought 
to escape by arraying themselves in priestly 
vestments which they had found in the church. 
*'We must not rob the clergy," she said 
merrily. 

The French losses in this affair were insig- 
nificant; the English force, about one hundred 
and fifty men, were all either killed or cap- 
tured. The victorious Maid rode back to the 
city, to weep for those who had died unshriven, 
and to confess her sins to Father Pasquerel, 
her director. 

She told her followers that the siege would 
be raised in five days. The next day, Thurs- 
day May 5th, was Ascension Day, and she 
would not fight. Instead, she summoned the 
enemy once more. Crossing to the end of the 
bridge, where a small fort had been erected, 
she called across the water to the English in 
the Tourelles, bidding them depart in peace. 
It was God's will, she said simply, that they 
should go. They replied with the usual gibes 
and insults. On this, she dictated a formal 
summons, ending with these words : *'This is the 

128 



OHLEANS 

third and last time that I write to you. I would 
have sent my letter in more honorable fashion, 
but you keep my herald, Guienne. Return him, 
and I will return the prisoners taken at St. 
Loup." 

The letter was bound round the shaft of 
an arrow, and shot from the bridge into the 
English camp. An Englishman picked it 
up, crying, "News from the harlot of the 
Armagnacs!" 

Joan wept at these brutal words, and called 
on the King of Heaven to comfort her; almost 
immediately thereupon she was of good cheer, 
"because she had tidings from her Lord"; and 
without wasting time began to make ready for 
the morrow. 

Early Friday morning (May 6th) troops 
and citizens issued through the Burgundy gate, 
crossed the river in boats, and advanced upon 
the Tourelles. This little fort had been re- 
stored by the English, and was now a strong 
place, with its pierced walls and its boulevard, 
and the fortified convent of the Augustines 
hard by. As the French advanced, the English 
sallied forth to meet them, in such numbers 
and with so bold a front that the assailants 
wavered, and began to fall back toward the 

129 



JOAN OF ARC 

island on which the central part of the bridge 
rested. This troop was commanded by De 
Gaucourt, the governor of the city, an old man 
and timid. Seeing his men and himself In 
danger, he would have withdrawn with them, 
but at the moment a cry was heard : ^'The Maid I 
the Maid!" Joan and La Hire had brought 
their horses over by boat, and now were gal- 
loping to the rescue, after them soldiers and 
townspeople In a rush. De Gaucourt would 
have held his soldiers back, but In vain. 

*'You are an evil man!'* cried the Maid. 
"Will you nill you, the men-at-arms will follow 
me to victory!" 

On she swept, lance In rest, crying, "In God's 
name, forward! forward boldly!" On swept 
La Hire and the rest, De Gaucourt and his 
men with them, carried away body and soul 
of them by the Impetuous rush. They charged 
the English and drove them back to their In- 
trenchments. Many of the defenders were 
slain, many taken; the rest took refuge In the 
boulevard, or outwork of the Tourelles. 

Many of the victorious French remained on 
the spot, to guard against a possible night 
assault. Mounting guard in the captured 

130 



ORLEANS 

Augustine convent, they supped on provisions 
brought to them in boats from the city, and 
slept on their arms, tired but joyful men. 

The Maid, however, had been wounded In 
the foot by a calthrop, and was besides mortally 
weary. She went back to Orleans, to the 
kindly shelter of the Boucher roof. It was 
Friday; she usually fasted on that day, but 
this time she felt the absolute need of food. 
To-morrow was before her, when she must 
have her full strength; she must eat, must rest; 
for this reason she had come back, though her 
heart was full of anxiety, dreading the night 
attack which her keen military sense told her 
the enemy might and ought to make. But the 
enemy was tired, too, and discouraged to boot: 
no attack came. 

**Rouse ye at daybreak to-morrow!** she 
charged her followers. "You shall do better 
still than to-day. Keep by my side, for I have 
much to do more than ever I had, and blood 
will flow from my body, above my breast." 

Then the good Maid said her prayers, and 
lay down quietly to rest, and to such sleep as 
her wound and her anxious heart would allow. 



131 



CHAPTER X 

THE RELIEF 

ANXIOUS indeed was this night for the 
Maid. Her unerring instinct told her 
that the English should make a counter attack, 
under cover of night, on the weary French, 
sleeping on their arms under the open sky or 
in the ruined Augustines, the broad stream 
flowing between them and safety. This, all 
authorities agree, they ought to have done; 
exactly why they did not do it, perhaps John 
Talbot alone knows. We know only that the 
night passed quietly, and that at sunrise on 
May seventh Joan heard mass and set forth 
on her high errand. 

"There is much to do!" she said. "More 
than I ever had yet I" 

Much indeed! The "boulevard" had high 
walls, and could be approached only by scaling- 
ladders; round it was a deep ditch or fosse. 
Beyond stood the Tourelles, still more strongly 

132 



THE RELIEF 

fortified. To take these two strongholds In 
the face of Talbot and his bulldogs was a 
heavy task Indeed; but Joan was full of con- 
fidence and cheer. As she mounted her horse, 
a man brought her **une alose*' a sea-trout or 
shad, for her breakfast. 

"Keep it for supper 1" said the Maid mer- 
rily to good Pere Boucher, her friendly host. 
"I will bring back a 'goddam' to eat it with 
me; and I shall bring him back across the 
bridge!" 

So she rode out, with her captains about 
her on either side, Dunois, and La Hire, De 
Gaucourt, Xaintrailles and the rest, a valiant 
company. One chronicler says that the cap- 
tains went unwillingly, thinking the odds heavy 
against them. One would rather think that 
they shared their girl-leader's confidence; 
surely Dunois and La Hire did. They crossed 
the river in boats, and with them every man 
who could be spared from the city, which must 
be guarded from a possible attack by Talbot. 
French men-at-arms, Scottish and Italian mer- 
cenaries, citizens and apprentices, flocked to 
the banner of the Maid, armed with guns, 
crossbows, clubs, or whatever weapon came to 

133 



JOAN OF ARC 

hand; carrying great shields, too, and movable 
sheds to shelter their advance. 

Inside the forts, six hundred English yeo- 
men awaited them with confidence equal to 
their own. They were well armed ; their great 
gun Passe Volant could throw an eighty-pound 
stone ball across the river and into the city; 
moreover, they had possession, that necessary 
nine points of the law, and English hearts for 
the tenth part; small wonder they were con- 
fident. 

It was still early morning when the French 
rushed to the assault, planting their scaling 
ladders along the walls, wherever foothold 
could be found; swarming up them like bees, 
shouting, cutting, slashing, receiving cut and 
slash in return. 

"Well the English fought," says the old 
chronicle, "for the French were scaling at once 
in various places, in thick swarms, attacking 
on the highest parts of their walls, with suck 
hardihood and valor, that to see them you 
would have thought they deemed themselves 
immortal. But the English drove them back 
many times, and tumbled them from high to 
low; fighting with bowshot and gunshot, with 

134 



THE RELIEF 

axes, lances, bills, and leaden maces, and even 
with their fists, so that there was some loss in 
killed and wounded."^ 

Smoke and flame, shouts and cries, hissing 
of bolts and whistling bullets, with now and 
then the crash of the great stone balls; a wild 
scene ; and always In the front rank the Maid, 
her white banner floating under the wall, her 
clear voice calling, directing, thrilling all who 
heard it. 

So through the morning the fight raged. 
About noon a bolt or arrow struck her, the 
point passing through steel and flesh, and 
standing out a handbreadth behind her 
shoulder. 

"She shrank and wept,'' says Father Pas- 
querel; but she would not have a charm sung 
over the wound to stay the bleeding. "I would 
rather die," she said, *'than so sin against the 
will of God."^ 

She prayed, and feeling her strength return- 
ing, drew out the arrow with her own hand. 

Dunois thinks she paid no further attention 
to the wound, and went on fighting till evening ; 
but Father Pasquerel says she had it dressed 

^Quoted by A. Lang, p. 120. 'Guizot 



JOAN OF ARC 

with olive oil, and paused long enough to con- 
fess to him. 

The English, seeing the Maid wounded, took 
heart even as the French lost it. The day was 
passing; *'the place, to all men of the sword, 
seemed impregnable." ^ 

"Doubt not!" cried the Maid; "the place is 
ours !'* 

But even Dunois held that "there was no 
hope of victory this day." He gave orders 
to sound the recall and withdraw the troops 
across the river. The day was lost? 

Not so! "But then," he says, "the Maid 
came to me, and asked me to wait yet a little 
while. Then she mounted her horse, and went 
alone into the vineyard, some way from the 
throng of men, and in that vineyard she abode 
in prayer for about a quarter of an hour. 
Then she came back, and straightway took her 
standard into her hands and planted it on the 
edge of the fosse." 

Seeing her once more In her place, steel and 
iron having apparently no power upon her, the 
English "shuddered, and fear fell upon them." 
They too, remember, had had their prophecies. 

*Percival de Cagiiy. 
136 



THE RELIEF 

"A virgin would mount on the backs of their 
archers!" A month, a week ago, they had still 
laughed at this. Now the "mysterious con- 
solation" which seemed to radiate from the 
person of the Maid on all faithful Frenchmen, 
heartening and uplifting them, became for her 
adversaries a mysterious terror, striking cold 
on the stoutest heart. 

The French had already sounded the retreat; 
the banner of the Maid, borne all day long 
by her faithful standard-bearer d'Aulon, had 
already been handed by him to a comrade for 
the withdrawal; when at Joan's earnest prayer 
the recall was countermanded. 

D'Aulon said to his friend, a Basque whom 
he knew well, "If I dismount and go forward 
to the foot of the wall, will you follow me?" 

He sprang from his saddle, held up his 
shield against the shower of arrows, and 
leaped into the ditch, supposing that the 
Basque was following him. The Maid at this 
moment saw her standard In the hands of the 
Basque, who also had gone down into the 
ditch. She seems not to have recognized his 
purpose. She thought that her standard was 

137 



JOAN OF ARC 

lost, or was being betrayed, and seized the end 
of the floating flag. 

"Hal my standard! my standard!'* she cried, 
and she so shook the flag that it waved wildly 
like a signal for instant onset. The men-at- 
arms conceived it to be such a signal, and 
gathered for attack. 

**Ha! Basque, is this what you promised 
me?" cried d'Aulon. Thereon the Basque tore 
the flag from the hands of the Maid, ran 
through the ditch, and stood beside d'Aulon, 
close to the enemy^s wall. By this time the 
whole company of those who loved her had 
rallied and were round her. 

"Watch!" said Joan to a knight at her 
side, "Watch till the tail of my standard 
touches the wall !'* 

A few moments passed. 

"Joan, the flag touches the wall!" 

"Then enter, all is yours!" ^ 

Then, like a wave of the sea, the French 
flung themselves upon the ladders; scaled the 
wall, mounted the crest, leaped or fell down 
on the inside; cut, thrust, hacked, all with such 
irresistible fury that the English, after valiant 

*A. Lang, p. 122. 

138 



THE RELIEF 

resistance, finally turned and fled to the draw- 
bridge that crossed to the Tourelles. 

Ah! The bridge was in flames! Smoke 
rolled over it, tongues of flame shot out red 
between the planks. 

Seeing this, Joan's heart went out to the 
men who had wronged and insulted her, yet 
had fought so valiantly. 

^'Glasdale!" she cried; ''Glasdale! yield thee 
to the King of Heaven! Thou calledst me 
harlot, but I have great pity on thy soul and 
the souls of thy company !'' 

Glasdale, brave as he was brutal, made no 
answer, but turned to meet a new peril, dire 
indeed. The people of the city had made a 
fireship and loaded it with Inflammable mate- 
rial, lighted the mass, and towed it all flaming 
under the wooden drawbridge. The bridge 
flared to heaven, yet with heroic courage Glas- 
dale and a handful of his knights shepherded 
the greater part of the defenders of the lost 
boulevard over the burning bridge, back into 
the stone enclosure of the Tourelles, themselves 
meantime holding the bridge with axe and 
sword. 

The fugitives reached the fort only to find 

139 



JOAN OF ARC 

themselves assailed from a new quarter. 
Those watching the fight saw with amazement 
and terror men crossing from the city to the 
Tourelles, apparently through the air, over a 
gap where two arches were broken. A miracle? 
No, only quickness of wit and action. An old 
gutter had been found and laid across the gap, 
and over this frail support walked the Prior 
of the Knights of Malta, followed by his men- 
at-arms. 

Finding all lost but honor, Glasdale and his 
faithful few turned and leaped on the burn- 
ing drawbridge, hoping to make good their 
retreat into the fort. The charred beams broke 
under them, and borne down by their heavy 
armor, the brave English sank beneath the tide, 
while on the bank the "Witch of the Armag- 
nacs" knelt weeping, and prayed for their 
souls. 

Dunois, La Hire, and the rest were more 
concerned at losing so much good ransom. 

For all was over; of all the valiant de- 
fenders of the two forts, not one man escaped 
death or captivity. 

The red flames lit up the ruined forts; in 
Orleans the joy bells rang their wildest peal; 

140 



THE RELIEF 

and over the bridge, as she had promised, 
"crossing on ill-laid planks and half-broken 
arches,*' the Maid of Orleans rode back to the 
city she had saved. 

Seventeen years old; a peasant maiden, who 
could not read or write; she had fought and 
won one of the "fifteen decisive battles of the 
world." 



CHAPTER XI 

THE DELIVERANCE 

IT was eight o'clock on the evening of the 
eighth of May when the people of Orleans 
gathered in dense masses at the bridgehead and 
along the riverside to greet their rescuer. 
Dusk had fallen; they pressed forward with 
lanterns and torches held aloft, all striving for 
a sight of the Maid. 

"By these flickering lights," says Jules 
Quicherat, "Joan seemed to them beautiful as 
the angel conqueror of a demon." 

Yet it was not the morning vision of snow 
and silver, fresh and dewy as her own youth, 
that had ridden out at daybreak to battle. 
Weary now was the white charger, drooping 
his gallant neck; weary was the Maid, faint 
with the pain of her wound, her white armor 
dinted and stained. But the people of Orleans 
saw nothing save their Angel of Deliverance. 
They pressed round her, eager to touch her 
armor, her floating standard, the horse which 

142 



THE DELIVERANCE 

had borne her so bravely through the day. 
Weary and wounded as she was, she smiled 
on one and all, and *'In the sweetest feminine 
voice, called them good Christians, and assured 
them that God would save them." 

So she rode on to the Cathedral, where she 
returned thanks humbly and devoutly to God 
who had given the victory; then, still sur- 
rounded by the shouting, rejoicing throng, 
home to the house of Boucher, where they 
left her. 

*'There was not a man who, going home 
after this evening, did not feel in him the 
strength of ten Englishmen."^ 

She had fasted since dawn, but she was too 
tired to eat the dose, nor did she bring the 
promised ^'goddam" to share it with her. The 
goddams were all dead save a few, who were 
jealously guarded for ransom. She supped on 
a few bits of bread dipped in weak wine and 
water, and a surgeon came and dressed her 
wound. 

All night, we are told, the joy bells rang 
through the rescued city, while the good Maid 
slept with the peace of Heaven in her heart. 

* Quicherat. 



JOAN OF ARC 

It was not a long sleep. At daybreak came 
tidings that the English had issued from their 
tents and arrayed themselves in order of battle. 

Instantly Joan arose and dressed, putting on 
a light coat of chain mail, as her wounded 
shoulder could not bear the weight of the heavy 
plate armor. She rode out with Dunois and 
the rest, and the French order of battle was 
formed, fronting the English; so the two 
armies remained for the space of an hour. 
The French, full of the strong wine of yes- 
terday's victory, were eager to attack; but Joan 
held them back. "If they attack us," she said, 
"iight bravely and we shall conquer them; but 
do not begin the battle!" 

Then she did a strange thing. She sent for 
a priest, and bade him celebrate mass in front 
of the army; and that done, to celebrate it yet 
again. Both services "she and all the soldiers 
heard with great devotion." 

"Now," said the Maid, "look well, and tell 
me; are their faces set toward us?" 

"No I" was the reply. "They have turned 
their backs on us, and their face? are set to- 
ward Meung." 

"In God's name, they are gone I" said Joan. 

144 



THE DELIVERANCE 

**Let them go, and let us go and praise God, 
and follow them no farther, since this is Sun- 
day." 

"Whereupon," says the chronicle, "the 
Maid with the other lords and soldiers re- 
turned to Orleans with great joy, to the great 
triumph of all the clergy and people, who with 
one accord returned to our Lord humble thanks 
and praises well deserved for the victory he 
had given them over the English, the ancient 
enemies of this realm." ^ 

This service of thanksgiving ordered by Joan 
of Arc on the ninth of May, 1429, was the 
virtual foundation of the great festival which 
Orleans has now celebrated with hardly a 
break for five hundred years. 

After that first outbreak of thanksgiving, 
Dunois himself laid down the rules for the 
annual keeping of the festival, which are given 
in the "Chronicle of the establishment of the 
fete** written thirty years after the siege. 

"My lord the bishop of Orleans, and my lord 
Dunois (the Bastard), brother of my lord the 
duke of Orleans, with the duke*s advice, as 
well as the burghers and inhabitants of the 

' Translated by F. C. Lowell. 



JOAN OF ARC 

said Orleans, ordered that on the eighth of 
May there should be a procession of people 
carrying candles, which procession should 
march as far as the Augustines, and, wherever 
the fight had raged, there a halt should be 
made and a suitable service should be had in 
each place with prayer. We cannot give too 
much praise to God and the Saints, since all 
that was done by God's grace, and so, with 
great devotion, we ought to take part in the 
said procession. Even the men of Bourges 
and of certain other cities celebrate the day, 
because if Orleans had fallen into the hands 
of the English, the rest of the kingdom would 
have taken great harm. Always remembering, 
therefore, the great mercy which God has 
shown to the said city of Orleans, we ought 
always to maintain and never to abandon this 
holy procession, lest we fall into ingratitude, 
whereby much evil may come upon us. Every 
one is obliged to join the said procession, car- 
rying a lighted candle in his hand. It passes 
round about the town In front of the church 
of our Lady of Saint Paul, at which place they 
sing praises to our Lady; and It goes thence 
to the cathedral, where the sermon is preached, 

146 



THE DELIVERANCE 

and thereafter a mass is sung. There are also 
vigils at Saint Aignan, and, on the morrow, 
a mass for the dead. All men, therefore, 
should be bidden to praise God and to thank 
Him; for at the present time there are youths 
who can hardly believe that the thing came 
about in this wise; you, however, should be- 
lieve that this is a true thing, and is verily the 
great grace of God." ^ 

Walls and boulevard have long since been 
outgrown by the city of the Loire: dynasties 
have risen and fallen, wars have swept and 
harried France after their fashion. Still, in 
the early May time, when Nature is fair and 
young and sweet as the Maid herself, Orleans 
rises up to do reverence to her rescuer. The 
priests walk in holiday vestments, the bells ring 
out, the censers swing, the people throng the 
streets and fill the churches. 

During her brief stay in Orleans after its 
deliverance, Joan bore herself with her own 
quiet modesty. She loved solitude, and rather 
shunned than sought company. She took no 
credit to herself; the glory was God*s and 

^Translated by F. C. Lowell. 



JOAN OF ARC 

God's alone, she repeatedly told the people, 
who flocked about her in adoration. 

"Never were seen such deeds as you have 
wrought!" they told her. "No book tells of 
such marvels!'* 

"My Lord," replied the Maid, "has a book 
in which no clerk ever read, were he ever so 
clerkly." ^ 

What next was for the Maid to do? 

Orleans was delivered, but France was still 
under English rule. John of Bedford, "brave 
soldier, prudent captain, skilful diplomatist, 
having experience of camps and courts," was 
startled, but not discouraged by the rescue of 
Orleans. He meant to rule France for his 
child-king, and to rule it well; as a matter of 
fact, he did rule it for thirteen years, striving 
always "in a degree superior to his century," 
to bring order out of chaos, to convert the 
bloodstained wilderness of the conquered coun- 
try into a decent and well-ordered realm. 

Nor was John Talbot himself one whit dis- 
heartened. He had lost some of his best men 
on the bloody day of the Tourelles, but he had 

^Pasquerel, translated by F. C Lowell. 
148 



THE DELIVERANCE 

plenty more. He had lost Orleans, but the 
river towns on either side of it were still his, 
Meung, Beaugency, Jargeau; all strongly 
fortified, all guarding river and high road so 
that no man might pass without their leave. 

He had retreated in excellent order from 
that field where his offered battle had been — 
strangely, he may have thought — refused by 
the Maid and her victorious army; he now 
established himself at Meung, v/ith strong out- 
posts at Beaugency and Jargeau, and awaited 
the next move on the enemy's part. 

Bedford, meantime, assembled in all haste 
another army at Paris, prepared to go to 
Talbot's assistance whenever need should arise. 

Joan knew better than to follow the orderly 
retreat of the English. Her own men, with 
all their superb courage, even with the flame 
of victory in their hearts, had not the training 
necessary for a long campaign in the open; 
neither was there money for it, nor provisions. 

Besides, her Voices had but one message for 
her now; she was to go to the Dauphin; he 
was to be crowned king, as soon as might be; 
then — to Paris! 

Leaving Dunois in charge of Orleans, Joan, 

149 



JOAN OF ARC 

with several of her followers, rode out once 
more, this time to Tours, whither Charles came 
from Chinon to meet her. 

It was a strange meeting. The conquering 
Maid, she beside whom, as she and all her 
followers believed, the angels of God had 
fought for France, rode forward, bareheaded, 
her glorious banner drooping in her hand, and 
bent humbly to her saddle-bow in obeisance. 
Charles bade her sit erect ; ^ an eyewitness 
thinks that In his joy he fain would have kissed 
her. He might better have alighted and held 
her stirrup, but this would naturally not occur 
to him; certainly not to the Maid, who had 
but one thought in her loyal heart. 

*'Gentle Dauphin," she said, *'let us make 
haste and be gone to Rheims, where you shall 
be crowned king!" Now, she pleaded, was the 
time, while their enemies still "fled, so to 
speak, from themselves." ^ 

She added some words which well had it 
been for Charles If he had heeded. "I shall 
hardly last more than a year!" she said. "We 
must think about working right well this year, 
for there is much to do." 

' Guizot. 
ISO 



THE DELIVERANCE 

From the beginning, she had known that her 
time was short. The how and why were merci- 
fully hidden from her, but she knew right well 
that whatever she was to do must be done 
soon. 

But Charles of Valols would not willingly 
do anything one year that might be put off 
till the next. He hesitated; dawdled; con- 
sulted La Tremoille, his favorite and master; 
consulted Jean Gerson, the most Christian 
doctor^ whom men called the wisest Frenchman 
of his age. The latter gave full honor and 
credence to the Maid. "Even if (which God 
forbid) she should be mistaken," he wrote, "in 
her hopes and ours. It would not necessarily 
follow that what she does comes of the evil 
spirit and not of God, but that rather our 
Ingratitude was to blame. Let the party which 
hath a just cause take care how by incredulity 
or Injustice it rendereth useless the divine suc- 
cor so miraculously manifested, for God, with- 
out any change of counsel, changeth the upshot 
according to desert." ^ 

Thus Gerson, the learned and saintly. La 
Tremoille, the Ignorant and unscrupulous, was 

* Guizot. 



JOAN OF ARC 

of another mind, and La Tremoille was master 
of the Dauphin and of such part of France as 
the Dauphin ruled. This greedy parasite had 
been willing that Orleans should be rescued; 
that alone boded him no special danger. Any 
general awakening of the country, however, 
any dawn of hope, freedom, tranquillity, for 
the unhappy people, might be disastrous for 
him. While the strength of the realm was 
expended on petty squabbles among Charles's 
various adherents, v/hlle the splitting of hairs 
with Burgundy filled the time safely and agree- 
ably. La Tremoille could rob and squeeze the 
people at his pleasure. But now affairs began 
to take on a new aspect. This Maid, having 
saved Orleans, might well have busied herself 
with matters of personal glory and profit. In- 
stead of this, she talked of nothing but a 
united France, a France at peace, with honor; 
of Charles a king Indeed, with all good and 
true men serving him honestly and joyfully. 
Moreover, his. La Tremoille's, chief rival and 
former patron, Arthur of Brittany, Count of 
RIchemont, was an admirer of this troublesome 
young woman. 

Altogether it seemed to La Tremoille that 

152 



THE DELIVERANCE 

the Maid was not a person to be encouraged. 
Fair and softly, though; no haste, no outward 
show of enmity; judicious procrastination could 
do much. 

Procrastination suited Charles admirably; he 
asked nothing better. He dawdled two pre- 
cious weeks away at Tours; then he went to 
Loches, and dav/dled there. (His son, Louis 
XL did not dawdle at Loches, though he spent 
much time there, making cages for unruly 
cardinals, worshipping our Lady of Embrun, 
hanging men like apples on his orchard trees, 
and otherwise disporting himself in his own 
fashion! But that was thirty years later.) 

Poor Joan, bewildered at this strange way 
of following up a great victory, followed 
Charles to Loches, and with Dunois at her side 
sought the Dauphin in his apartments, where 
he was talking with his confessor and two other 
members of his council, Robert le Magon and 
Christopher of Harcourt. 

Entering the room, with a modest but de- 
termined mien she knelt before Charles and 
clasped his knees. 

*'Noble Dauphin,'' she said, "do not hold 
so many and such lengthy councils, but come 

153 



JOAN OF ARC 

at once to Rheims and take the crown that is 
yours!" 

Upon this, Harcourt asked her if this advice 
came from her ^'conseil*^ as she called her 
heavenly advisers. *'Yesl" she replied. "They 
greatly insist thereupon.'* 

"Will you not tell us, in the presence of 
the king, what is the nature and manner of 
this counsel that you receive?" 

Joan blushed; it was great pain to her to 
unveil things so sacred; but she answered 
bravely: "I understand well enough what it 
is you wish to know, and I will tell you freely. 

"When men do not believe in those things 
which come to me from God, it grieves me 
sore. Then I go apart and pray, making my 
plaint to my Lord for that they are so hard 
of belief: and after I have prayed I hear a 
Voice saying to me, *Child of God, go, go, go I 
I will be thy helper; go !' ^ When I hear that 
Voice I am joyful, and wish it might always be 
thus with me." 

While she spoke, she raised her eyes to 
heaven, and seemed indeed in an ecstasy of joy. 

^ Fille De, va, va, va! je serai a ion aide; va! 



THE DELIVERANCE 

Charle? listened, was impressed, and doubt- 
less went to tell La Tremoille about it. 

But there were others, who cared nothing for 
La Tremoille and much for the Maid. 

The young Duke of Alengon was, we know, 
her sworn brother-in-arms. He had no mind 
to let the glory of Orleans evaporate in trailing 
mists of negotiation and dispute. He got to- 
gether a little army, and demanded the presence 
and help of the Maid in a campaign against 
the English. La Tremoille could not well pre- 
vent this; he could only so manage that a 
whole month was wasted before permission 
was given. This was a hard month for the 
Maid. To her eyes it was clear as the sun in 
heaven that "when once the Dauphin was 
crowned and consecrated, the power of his ad- 
versaries would continually dwindle." 

"All,'* says Dunois, "came to share her 
opinion!" By which he meant all true and 
knightly persons like himself. 

Finally the matter was decided. A rendez- 
vous was appointed at Selles, not far from 
Loches; thither, in the first days of June, the 
Maid repaired, and there gathered about her all 

IS5 



JOAN OF ARC 

the chivalry of France, eager to follow her to 
fresh conquests. 

Alengon was in command; he was, we might 
say, the temporal chief; Joan the spiritual one. 
Dunois was there; La Hire, Vendome, and the 
rest; among them Guy de Laval and his brother 
Andrew. A letter from the former, written in 
his name and his brother's to his mother and 
grandmother, has been preserved, and gives us 
so clear and life-like a picture of the occasion 
and of Joan herself that I cannot resist giving 
it in full. Mutatis mutandis, it is not so unlike 
certain letters that come over the sea to-day.^ 
Reading it, we can thrill with the two women, 
one of whom, remember, the grandmother, was 
the widow of Bertrand Du Guesclin. 

My Reverend Ladies and Mothers: After I wrote you on 
Friday last from St. Catherine of Fierbois, I reached 
Loches on Saturday, and went to see my lord Dauphin^ 
in the castle, after vespers in the collegiate church. He is 
a very fair and gracious lord, very well made and active, 
and ought to be about seven years old. Sunday I came 
to St. Aignan, where the king was, and I sen* for my lord 
of Treves to come to my quarters; and my uncle went up 
with him to the castle to tell the king I was come, and to 

' 1918. ' Afterward Louis XL 

156 



THE DELIVERANCE 

find out when he would be pleased to have me wait on him. 
I got the answer that I should go as soon as I wished, and 
he greeted me kindly and said many pleasant things to me. 

On Monday I left the king to go to Selles, four leagues 
from St. Aignan, and the king sent for the Maid, who was 
then at Selles. Some people said that this was done for 
my sake, so that I could see her; at any rate she was very 
pleasant to my brother and me, being fully armed, except 
for her head, and holding her lance in her hand. Afterwards, 
when we had dismounted at Selles, I went to her quarters 
to see her, and she had wine brought, and told me she 
would soon serve it to me in Paris; and what she did seemed 
at times quite divine, both to look at her and to hear her. 
Monday at vespers she left Selles to go to Romorantin, 
three leagues in advance, the marshal of Boussac and a 
great many soldiers and common people being with her. 
I saw her get on horseback, armed all in white, except her 
head, v^ith a little battle-axe in her hand, riding a great 
black courser, which was very restive at the door of her 
lodgings, and would not let her mount. So she said, 
"Lead him to the cross," which was in front of the church 
near by, in the road. There she mounted without his 
budging, just as if he had been tied, and then she turned 
toward the church door which was close by, and said, 
*'You priests and churchmen, make a procession and pray 
to God." She then set out on the road, calling ** Forward, 
forward," with her Httle battle-axe in her hand, and her 
waving banner carried by a pretty page. 

On Monday my lord duke of Alen9on came to Selles 
with a great company, and to-day I won a match from him 
at tennis. I found here a gentleman sent from my brother 
Chauvigny, because he had heard that I had reachec St. 
Catherine. The man said that he had summoned his 



JOAN OF ARC 

vassals and expected soon to be here, and that he still loved 
my sister dearly, and that she was stouter than she used 
to be. It is said here that my lord constable is coming 
with six hundred men at arms and four hundred archers, 
and that the king never had so great a force as they hope 
to gather. But there is no money at court, or so little that 
for the present I can expect no help nor maintenance; so 
since you have m> seal, my lady mother, do not hesitate 
to sell or mortgage my lands, or else make some other pro- 
vision by which we may be saved; otherwise through our 
own fault we shall be dishonored, and perhaps come near 
perishing, since if we do not do something of the kind, as 
there is no pay, we shall be left quite alone. So far we 
have been, and we are still, much honored, and our coming 
has greatly pleased the king and all his people, and they 
make? us better cheer than you could imagine. 

The Maid tol^ me in her lodgings, when I went there to 
see her, that three days before my coming she had sent to 
you, my grandmother^ a little gold ring, but she said that 
it was a very little thing and that she would willingly have 
sent you something better considering your rank. 

To-day my lord of Alen^on, the Bastard of Orleans, 
and Gaucourt should leave this place of Selles, and go after 
the Maid, and you have sent I don't know what letters 
to my cousin La Tremo'ille and to my lord of Treves, so 
that the king wants to keep me with him until the Maid 
has been before the English places around Orleans to which 
they are going to lay siege, and the artillery is already 
prepared, and the Maid makes no doubt that she will soon 
be with the king, saying that when he ^starts to advance 
towards Rheims I shall go with him; but God forbid that 
I should do this, and not go with her at once; and my 
brother says so, too, and so does my lord of Alen^on — 

158 



THE DELIVERANCE 

such a good-for-nothing will a fellow be who stay behind. 
They think that the king will leave here to-day, to draw 
nearer to the army, and men are coming in from all direc- 
tions every day. They hope that before ten days are out 
affairs will be nearly settled one way or the other, but all 
have so good hope in God that I believe He will help us. 

My very respected ladies and mothers, we send our 
remembrances, my brother and; I, to you, as humbly as 
we can; and please also write, us, at once news of your- 
selves, and do you, my lady mother, tell me how you find 
yourself after the medicines you have taken, for I am 
much troubled about you. 

My very respected ladies and mothers, I pray the 
blessed son of God to give you a good life and a long one, 
and we both of us also send our remembrances to our 
brother Louis. Written at Selles this Wednesday the 
8th of June. 

And this vespers there came here my Iprd of Ven- 
dome, my lord of Boussac, and others, and La Hire is 
close to the army, and soon they will get to work. God 
grant that we get our wish. 

Your humble sons, 
Guy and Andrew of Laval.^ 

On June 9th, Alengon and the Maid en- 
tered Orleans with their army, about two thou- 
sand strong. The people flocked about her 
with joyous greetings and offers of provisions 
and munitions; they could not do enough to 
show their enduring gratitude to the saviour of 

* Lowell, pp. 120-123. 

159 



JOAN OF ARC 

their beloved city. Beside this, it must be 
confessed that they felt the proverbial ^'lively 
sense of future favors." Jargeau, Meung, 
Beaugency, were still in English hands; from 
these sentinel towns up and down the Loire 
the enemy kept strict watch over Orleans, 
and there could be no freedom of coming or 
going. These towns, it appeared, must be 
taken before the cry *To Paris!' could be 
raised in good earnest. 

Very well! let them be taken, said the 
Maid; Jargeau first, then the others. On June 
iith^ she and Alengon set forth, with about 
three thousand troops and a large following 
of citizens and country people. All were eager 
to follow her banner, to share in her labors 
and her victory. 

Before telling the story of the "Week of 
Victories," let us see what her brothers-in-arms, 
the knightly captains of France, thought of the 
Maid of Domremy. They had fought at her 
side through an arduous campaign; they were 
entering, with joyful ardor, on another. An- 
drew Lang has carefully selected three passages 
from the mass of contemporaneous evidence; 

^Lowell. Lang calls it June 9th. 
160 



THE DELIVERANCE 

the judgment of three notable military experts, 
De Termes, Dunois, and Alengon. De 
Termes speaks first. 

*'At the assaults before Orleans, Jeanne 
showed valor and conduct which no man could 
excel in war. All the captains were amazed 
by her courage and energy, and her endurance. 
... In leading and arraying, and in encourag- 
ing men, she bore herself like the most skilled 
captain in the world, who all his life had been 
trained to war." 

Then comes Alencon, her "gentle Duke," 
with: "She was most expert in war, as much 
in carrying the lance as in mustering a force 
and ordering the ranks, and in laying the guns. 
All marveled how cautiously and with what 
foresight she went to work, as if she had been 
a captain with twenty or thirty years of ex- 
perience." 

Finally Dunois says: "She displayed (at 
Troyes) marvelous energy, doing more work 
than two or three of the most famous and 
practised men of the sword could have done." 

Lang, summing these things up, concludes 
that^ "her skill is a marvel, like that of the 

'Lang, pp. 136 and 137. 
161 



JOAN OF ARC 

untutored Cllve, but nobody knows the limits 
of the resources of nature." 

It is easier to begin upon quotations than to 
cease from them. I may fitly close this chapter 
with a passage from Boucher de Molandon: 

"All those to whom it has been given to 
kindle the nations, have cared much less to be 
in advance of their time than to make use of 
the exciting elements of the time itself. Such 
is Jeanne d'Arc, whose merit and power alike 
it was not to innovate upon, but to draw from 
her epoch the best that it contained. Skilful 
above all others in finding happy expressions, 
the ringing note that roused to action, when 
she speaks of the blood of France, it is be- 
cause the word has a meaning for all; she 
wakes a great echo. She sounds the ancient 
trumpet blast, and the illustrious dead, from 
Clovis to Du Guesclin, stir in their tombs, and 
cause the soil of France to tremble under their 
discouraged descendants." 



CHAPTER XII 

THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

ON June nth, as we have seen, Joan 
rode forth on her new errand. Be- 
side food and ammunition, grateful Orleans 
furnished artillery for the expedition. Five 
sloops, manned by forty boatmen, brought 
heavy guns and field pieces down the river, 
while "twenty-four horses were needed to 
drag the chariot of the huge gun of position, 
resembling Mons Meg, now In Edinburgh 
Castle."^ 

Ropes and scaling-ladders, too, were pro- 
vided; these were easily carried. Thus 
equipped, the troop marched bravely on, halt- 
ing only when a short march from the town of 
Jargeau. The town apparently awaited them 
with little concern. Its walls were strong. Its 
fosse deep and filled with water. Inside was 

^Lang, p. 138. 
163 



JOAN OF ARC 

the Earl of Suffolk with six hundred men, an 
ample number for defence. He was probably 
watching at this moment from the church tower, 
but he made no sign. 

A discussion rose among the leaders of the 
advancing troop. Should they storm the 
fortress, or proceed by slower methods? 

Joan was for the assault. "Success is cer- 
tain,'' she said. "If I had not assurance of 
this from God, I would rather herd sheep than 
put myself in so great jeopardy." 

She started on, and the others followed. 
Now a gate opened In the wall: a band of 
English rode out, and attacking the French 
skirmishers, drove them back. Thereupon the 
Maid seized the standard, rallied her men, 
repulsed the sally, and took possession of the 
suburb3 of the town. So far, so good! Next 
morning the guns opened fire on both sides, 
and banged away merrily for some time, one 
of those from Orleans, La Bergere, demolish- 
ing one of the towers in the wall. Here 
seemed to be a practicable breach ready for the 
storming. A council was hastily called. The 
Maid, Alengon, Dunols, Xalntrallles — where 
was La Hire? Someone had heard that La 

164 



THE weee: of victories 

Hire was at the moment holding a parley with 
the English commander. Sent for in haste 
(and In some heat, be it said; "I and the other 
leaders were ill content with La Hire!" says 
Alengon), he appeared with the tidings that 
Suffolk offered to surrender if no relief came 
within fifteen days. 

Joan had summoned the enemy the night 
before, and was quite clear in her mind. If 
the English would depart in their tunics, with- 
out arms or armor, they might do so; other- 
wise the town should be stormed. The other 
leaders decided that the English might take 
their horses as well as doublets. Sir John 
Fastolf was coming from Paris, and it would 
be well to be off with the old foe before they 
were on with the new. 

Suffolk, naturally enough, refused these 
terms. The French heralds sounded the as- 
sault. 

"Forward, gentle Duke!" cried the Maid. 
*To the assault!" 

Alengon hesitated. Was the breach defi- 
nitely practicable? 

''Doubt not!" cried the Maid. 'Tt is the 
hour that God has chosen. The good Lord 

i6s 



JOAN OF ARC 

helps those who help themselves. Ah I gentle 
Duke," she added, with the pretty touch of 
raillery that was all her own; *'are you afraid? 
Do you not know that I promised your wife 
to bring you back safe and sound, better than 
when you left?" 

She had her way; the ladders were placed, 
the French swarmed to the assault, while on 
both sides the cannon thundered defiance. 
Watching with Alengon near the breach, Joan 
suddenly cried, "Stand aside ! that gun — " and 
she pointed toward a certain cannon on the 
wall — "will slay you!" The Duke stepped 
aside. A few minutes later the Sieur de Lude, 
standing on the same spot, was killed by a shot 
from the gun she had indicated. 

This time the Maid could not give warn- 
ing; she was rushing into the breach, the faith- 
ful Duke at her side. Seeing this, Suffolk 
called out, begging to speak with Alengon; 
but it was too late. Alengon was already 
following his leader up a scaling-ladder. 

No easy task, climbing a long ladder (for 
Jargeau walls were high), in plate armor, 
carrying a heavy standard; but so the Maid 
went. Part way up a stone struck her, tearing 

i66 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

the standard and crushing in the light helmet 
she wore. She fell, but was up again in an 
instant. 

"On, friends, on! God has judged them. 
Be of good courage; within an hour they are 
ours!" 

It did not need an hour. In an instant, it 
seemed to Alengon, the city was taken, its 
commander captured, its defenders fleeing in 
disorder. Over a thousand men were slain in 
the pursuit; Joan and Alencon returned in 
triumph to Orleans, and once more the town 
went mad over its glorious Pucelle. 

She might well have rested after this, one 
would think, but no ! Two days later, she said 
to d'Alengon, "To-morrow, after dinner, I wish 
to pay a visit to the English at Meung. Give 
orders to the company to march at that hour!"^ 
They marched, came to Meung, took the 
bridge-head (a strong fortification) by assault, 
and placed a garrison there, but made no at- 
tempt to enter the city. This was a visit, not 
a capture. They slept In the fields, and next 
morning were on the march again. Beaugency, 
the next town, saw them coming, and the Eng- 

*A. Lang, p. 141. 
167 



JOAN OF ARC 

llsh garrison promptly evacuated the town, 
retiring into the castle, but leaving various 
parties in ambush here and there in sheds and 
outbuildings, to surprise the invaders. 

The invaders refused to be surprised; 
planted their cannon, and began a bombard- 
ment in regular form. But that evening a 
singular complication arose. Word came to 
the two young commanders that Arthur of 
Richemont, Constable of France, was close at 
hand, with a large body of troops. Now 
Charles, or rather La TremoiUe, was at dag- 
gers drawn with Richemont, and Alencon had 
received a royal mandate forbidding him to 
have any dealings with the Constable, who 
happened to be his own uncle. Here was a 
quandary! Alengon was loyal to the core; 
how could he disobey his sovereign? On the 
other hand he had no quarrel with his uncle, 
and the latter's help would be invaluable. 
They slept on their doubts and fears, an 
anxious and foreboding sleep. In the morning 
word came that the English army was ad- 
vancing under Talbot and Fastolf. This was 
the precipitating drop in the cup of trembling. 
"To arms!" cried the soldiers; and Alengon 

i68 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

and the Maid mounted their horses and rode 
to meet De Richemont. 

The Constable also had received a royal 
mandate. He was forbidden to advance, on 
pain of high displeasure; if he did so, he would 
be attacked. Neither the Dauphin nor his fol- 
lowers would have anything to do with him. 
Richemont, who knew that this message came 
In reality from La Tremoille, about whom 
he cared nothing at all, continued to advance; 
and on the i6th day of June came upon Alen- 
Qon and the Maid riding to meet him with 
Dunois, La Hire, and the rest. 

"Joan," said the bluff Constable, "I was told 
that you meant to attack me. I know not 
whether you come from God or not; if you 
are from God, I fear you not at all, for God 
knows my good will ; if you are from the devil, 
I fear you still less." 

"Ah, fair Constable," said the Maid. "You 
have not come for my sake, but you are wel- 
come!" 

So all was well that ended well. The threat- 
ening breach was closed, and over it the allied 
forces rode on to meet the English. 

These too had had their troubles. Talbot 

169 



JOAN OF ARC 

and Fastolf had met at Janville and held a 
council, but could not be of one mind. Fastolf, 
a cautious man, was for delay. Their men, he 
said, were disheartened by recent events; the 
French were in full flush of triumph with the 
send of victory behind them; best for them- 
selves to stand fast, and keep such strongholds 
as were still theirs, leaving Beaugency to its 
fate. 

This discreet plan little suited John Talbot. 
Give way, without battle, to a girl? Not he! 
though he had only his proper escort and such 
as elected to follow him, yet, he vowed, with 
the aid of God and St. George he would fight 
the French. 

The weaker man yielded, albeit protesting 
to the last moment; the old lion marshaled his 
troops, and on June i8th at Patay, between 
Orleans and Chateaudun, rode out to battle. 

It was evening of the 17th when the French, 
arrayed in order of battle on a little hill, **une 
petite montagnettey* saw their enemy ad- 
vancing across a wide plain. Beholding them 
Joan the Maid cried to those beside her, "They 
are ours I if they were hung from the clouds 
above me, we must have themT' 

170 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

On came the valiant English, and ranged 
themselves in battle array at the foot of the 
little hill. Talbot knew well that the others 
had the advantage of position. Behoved him 
to break the line which stood so firm above 
him. He sent two heralds to say that "there 
were three knights who would fight the French 
if they would come down." 

The French replied, "The hour is late: go 
to your rest for this day. To-morrow, if it be 
the good pleasure of God and Our Lady, we 
shall meet at closer quarters!" 

The English did not follow this advice, but 
fell back on Meung, and spent the night in 
battering the bridge-head towers which the 
French had taken and were holding. Next 
morning they would assault and re-take the 
towers, then march to the relief of Beaugency. 

Morning found them collecting doors and 
other things to shelter them during the storm- 
ing of the forts; when a pursuivant came in 
hot haste from Beaugency, announcing that the 
French had taken town and fort and were now 
on their way to find the English generals. 

Hereupon the said English generals dropped 
the doors and other things, departed from 

171 



JOAN OF ARC 

Meung, and took the road to Paris, marching 
in good order across the wide wooded plain of 
the Beauce. Behind them, but well out of sight, 
pricked the advancing French. 

What followed reads more like a child's 
game than a life and death struggle of brave 
men. The French were seeking the English, 
but had no idea of their whereabouts. The 
Maid, being appealed to, said confidently, 
"Ride boldly on! You will have good guid- 
ance." 

To Alencon, who asked her privately what 
they should do, she replied, *'Have good 
spurs !" 

"How? Are we then to turn our backs?" 

"Not so! but there will be need to ride 
boldly; we shall give a good account of the 
English, and shall need good spurs to follow 
them." 

On the morning of June i8th Joan said, 
"To-day the gentle king shall have the greatest 
victory he has yet had." 

For some reason — probably because they 
wished to keep her in a place of safety, fearing 
ambuscades in this unknown country — Joan did 
not lead the advance this day. An enemy might 

172 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

lurk behind any clump of oak or beech; they 
would not risk their precious Maid in so pre- 
carious an adventure. 

This was not to the Maid's taste; she was 
very angry, we are told, for she loved to lead 
the vanguard: however it chanced, La Hire was 
the fortunate gallant who rode forward, with 
eighty men of his company, "mounted on the 
flower of chargers," to find the English and 
report when found. Briefly, a scouting party. 

"So they rode on and they rode on," till at 
last they saw on their right the spires of Lig- 
nerolles, on their left those of Patay, two little 
cities of the plain, thick set in woods. This 
was all they saw, for the English, though di- 
rectly in front of them, were close hidden in 
thickets and behind hedges. 

Talbot himself led the van. Coming to a 
lane between two tall hedges he dismounted, 
and, mindful it may be of the moment at Agin- 
court 

"When from the meadow by. 
Like a storm suddenly, 
The English archery 
Struck the French horses," 

selected five hundred skilled archers, and pro- 
ceeded to instal them behind the hedges, de- 

173 



JOAN OF ARC 

claring that he would hold the pass till his 
main and rear guard came up. 

"But another thing befell him!" says the old 
chronicle. 

On came La Hire and his eighty cavaliers, 
dashing across the open, crashing through the 
woods, who so merry as they? 

Now these woods held other living things be- 
side English archers. At the sound of crackling 
and rending branches, up sprang a noble stag, 
startled from his noonday rest, and fled 
through the forest as if the hounds were at his 
heels. So fleeing, the frightened creature 
rushed full Into the main body of the English, 
hurrying to join Talbot. An Englishman is 
an Englishman, the world oyer. They did not 
know the French were near, but I am not sure 
that it would have made any difference if they 
had. Clear, loud, and triumphant, every man 
of them raised the "view halloo," as good 
sportsmen should. La Hire heard, and 
checked his horse instantly; sent back a mes- 
sage to Alengon and the Maid, the one word 
*^FoundF* formed his eighty in order of 
battle, and charged with such fury down Tal- 

174 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

bot's lane that the English archers were cut to 
pieces before they could loose a shaft. 

Fastolf now came rushing up to join Talbot, 
but finding himself too late, drew rein, and 
suffered himself to be led — somewhat ignomini- 
ously, it was thought — from the field; "making 
the greatest dole that ever man made.'* 

Well might he lament. The battle of Patay 
was followed by a massacre of the English, 
which the Maid was powerless to prevent. 
The French had suffered too long; the iron had 
entered too deep into their souls. As the world 
stood then, they would have been more or less 
than human to have held their hand from the 
slaughter. It seemed probable that Joan did 
not see all of the butchery, but she saw more 
than enough. "She was most pitiful," says the 
page d'Aulon, "at the sight of so great a 
slaughter. A Frenchman was leading some 
English prisoners; he struck one of them on 
the head; the man fell senseless. Joan sprang 
from her saddle and held the Englishman's 
head in her lap, comforting him; and he was 
shriven." ^ 

Talbot was taken by Xaintrailles, and led 

* Translated by Andrew Lang. 



JOAN OF ARC 

by him before Alengon, the Maid and de 
Richemont. 

"You did not look for this in the morning, 
Lord Talbot!" said Alengon, who had been a 
prisoner in England. 

"It is the fortune of war!" said the old lion; 
and no other word of his is recorded. 

The Week of Victories was over, and once 
more Joan returned to her Orleans, to joy- 
bells and masses, adoring crowds and friendly 
hearthstones. This time she found a present 
awaiting her at the house of Pere Boucher, a 
present at once quaint and pathetic. 

Fourteen years had passed since Agincourt 
was lost and won, and Charles of Orleans was 
still a prisoner in England, still writing poetry 
like his fellow-prisoner and poet, James I. of 
Scotland. He had heard of the grievous peril 
of his city, and of its glorious rescue by the 
wonder-working Maid. He would fain show 
his gratitude in some seemly and appropriate 
way. Therefore, "considering the good and 
agreeable service of the Pucelle against the 
English, ancient enemies of the King and him- 
self," he ordered the treasurer (of Orleans) to 
offer in his name to the young heroine a suit — 

176 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

of armor? — By no means! a costume of state, 
^'vetement d! apparaty such as gentlewomen 
wore. The colors of his house were to be 
used; "a robe of fine scarlet cloth, with a tunic 
{huque) of dark green stuff." ''A tailor of 
renown" was charged with the making of the 
costume; the items of expense have been pre- 
served. 

Two ells of scarlet cloth cost eight gold 
crowns; the lining, two crowns more. One ell 
of green stuff, two crowns. For making a robe 
and huque, with trimming of white satin, 
sendal, and other stuff, one crown. Total, 
thirteen gold crowns, equal to about twenty dol- 
lars of our money. Not an extravagant present, 
you say, in return for a royal city. But Joan 
had looked for no reward, and Charles gave 
what he could. Be sure that the Maid was 
well pleased with her costume of state; I 
cannot repeat too often that she was seven- 
teen, and fair as a white rose. She may even 
have worn it — who knows? during those few 
days of rest, after Patay, at Pere Boucher's. 
She loved pretty clothes. One can fancy the 
astonishment of Alencon, coming clanking In 
his armor to take counsel with his fellow- 

177 



JOAN OF ARC 

commander, to find her blushing rose-like in 
scarlet and green. It is a pretty picture. 
Those were the days of the hennin, but I can- 
not think that the Maid ever, even for a mo- 
ment, crowned her short dark locks with that 
most hideous invention of fashion. We all 
know it in pictures ; the single or double-horned 
headdress (I know not which Is uglier!) often 
reaching monstrous proportions, with which 
the fashionable women of that day were in- 
fatuated. The single hennin was often two or 
three feet in height; the double one perhaps 
nearly as wide. 

In the first year of the siege of Orleans one 
Friar Thomas preached a crusade against the 
extravagance of women's dress, and especially 
against the hennin. *'He was so vehement 
against them," says Monstrelet, *'that no 
woman thus dressed dared to appear in his 
presence, for he was accustomed when he saw 
any with such dresses, to excite the little boys 
to torment and plague them. He ordered the 
boys to shout after them, *Au hennin! au 
hennin!' even when the ladies were departed 
from him, and from hearing his invectives ; and 
the boys pursuing them endeavored to pull 

178 



THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 

down these monstrous head-dresses, so that the 
ladies were forced to seek shelter in places of 
safety. These cries caused many tumults be- 
tween those who raised them and the servants 
of the ladles. For a time the ladies were 
ashamed, and came to mass in close caps, *such 
as those of nuns.* But this reform lasted not, 
for like as snails, when anyone passes them, 
draw in their horns, and when all danger seems 
over, put them forth again — so these ladies, 
shortly after the preacher had quitted their 
country, forgetful of his doctrine and abuse, 
began to resume their former colossal head- 
dresses, and wore them even higher than 
before." 

A terrible fellow, this Friar Thomas. Mon- 
strelet further tells us that "at sermons he di- 
vided women from men by a cord, having 
observed some sly doings between them while 
he was preaching." 

Sometimes, after an eloquent sermon on the 
pains of hell and damnation, he would summon 
his hearers to bring him all games and toys; 
all hennins and other abominations of dress; 
and having a fire ready burning, would ^V^ow 

179 



JOAN OF AR 



these vanities in and make an end of them for 
that time. 

Here is a long digression about hennins; as 
I say, I do not believe Joan ever put one on 
her head; nor did Friar Thomas, so far as I 
know, ever come to Orleans. 



CHAPTER XIII 

RHEIMS 

THINGS began to look worse and worse 
for La Tremo'ille. *'By reason of 
Joan the Maid,'^ says the old chronicle, "so 
many folks came from all parts unto the king 
for to serve him at their own charges, that La 
Tremo'ille and others of the council were full 
wroth thereat, through anxiety for their own 
persons." 

That figure of a united France, which shone 
so bright and gracious before the eyes of the 
Maid, was to La Tremo'ille and his minions a 
spectre of doom. They put forth all their 
forces of inertia and procrastination — mighty 
forces indeed when skilfully handled — and 
spun their cobwebs of intrigue close and closer 
about the foolish Dauphin. 

Rejoicing Orleans thought her prince would 
come to share her triumph, and through her 

i8i 



JOAN OF ARC 

gates would ride forth to that coronation which 
was to consummate and render stable the 
glorious victories of the past weeks. They 
adorned their streets, hung out their richest 
tapestries for the royal visitor; but Charles was 
visiting La Tremoille at the latter's castle of 
Sully, and made no movement. Joan waited 
a day or two, and then took horse and rode to 
Sully. She had no time to waste, however it 
might be with others. Earnestly and rever- 
ently she besought Charles to make no more 
delay, but ride with her at once to Rheims for 
his coronation. ♦ 

Charles regretted the severity of the Maid's 
labors; was very pleased at the victories; 
thought she ought to take a holiday; shortly, 
no one knows why, left Sully and went to 
Chateauneuf, fifteen miles down the river. 
Joan followed him, and again made her prayer. 
She wept as she knelt before him. The cruel 
toil, the bloodshed and the glory — was all to 
be for naught? The days were flying, every 
day bringing her nearer the end. The 
Dauphin, moved by her tears, bade her dry her 
eyes, all would be well. 

182 



RHEIMS 

But while Charles dawdled and La Tre- 
moille shuffled his cards and spun his webs, 
France was rising. The news of Orleans and 
Patay flew on the wings of the wind, birds of 
the air carried it. 

In La Rochelle the bells were rung; Te 
Deum was sung; bonfires blazed, and every 
child was given a cake to run and shout 
*'Noeir* before the triumphal procession. The 
name of the Maid was on every lip, every heart 
beat high for her. Knowing this, as she must 
have known it, small wonder that she chafed 
and wept at the delay. 

She rode to Gien, where long and weary 
councils were held, and ten more precious days 
wasted. Here people came flocking from all 
parts of the realm, to join her standard, for 
love of her and of France. The royal 
treasury was empty; no matter for that! 
Gentlemen who were too poor to equip them- 
selves properly came armed with bows and 
arrows, with hunting knives, with anything that 
could cut or pierce. One gallant soldier, 
*'Bueil, one of the French leaders," stole linen 
from the drying-lines of a neighboring castle 
to make himself decent to appear at court. 

183 



JOAN OF ARC 

**Each one of them," says the old chronicle, 
**had firm belief that through Joan much good 
would come to the land of France, and so they 
longed greatly to serve her, and learned of her 
deeds as if they were God's own." 

Miracle and portent sprang up to aid the 
cause. In Poitou knights in blazing armor were 
seen riding down the sky, and it was clear that 
they threatened ruin to the Duke of Brittany, 
who still favored the English. 

The joints of the favorite were loosened, and 
his knees smote together; yet at this time none 
dared speak openly against him, though all 
knew that it was he who blocked the way. But 
for him, men said, the French might now be 
strong enough to sweep the English finally and 
completely from their soil. 

John of Bedford, in Paris, trying his best 
to rule France, since that was the task that 
had been set him, wrote to his young master 
in England: 

"All things here prospered for you till the 
time of the siege of Orleans, undertaken by 
whose advice God only knows. Since the death 
of my cousin of Salisbury, whom God absolve, 
who fell by the hand of God, as it seemeth, 

184 



RHEIMS 

your people, who were assembled in great 
number at this siege, have received a terrible 
check. This has been caused in part, as we 
trow, by the confidence our enemies have in a 
disciple and limb of the devil, called Pucelle, 
that used false enchantments and sorcery. The 
which stroke and discomfiture has not only 
lessened the number of your people here, but 
also sunk the courage of the remainder in a 
wonderful manner, and encouraged your ene- 
mies to assemble themselves forthwith in great 
numbers.''^ 

The enemies of England were not all en- 
couraged. There were others besides La 
TremoTlle at the councils of Gien who advised 
against the ride to Rheims. The way was long, 
and thick set with strong places garrisoned by 
English and Burgundians. There would be 
great danger for the Dauphin and all con- 
cerned. 

"I know all that, and care nothing for it!" 
cried the Maid; and In desperation she rode 
out of the town and bivouacked in the open 
fields, her faithful comrades about her. 

Deep as was her distress, her determination 

* "Pictorial History of England," Knight, p. 88. 
185 



JOAN OF ARC 

never wavered. She wrote to the people of 
Tournai, who had been faithful throughout to 
the Dauphin's cause, "Loyal Frenchmen, I pray 
and require you to be ready to come to the 
coronation of the gentle King Charles at 
Rheims, where we shall shortly be, and to come 
and meet us so soon as ye shall learn of our 
approach." 

This was on June 25th; on the 29th, La 
Tremoille and the Dauphin yielded reluctantly 
enough to the irresistible force of public en- 
thusiasm. The Maid had already started. 
The stage was set for the coronation; there 
was really no help for It. 

So off they set for Rhelm.s, Dauphin, favor- 
ite, court and all, following the Maid of 
Domremy. 

It was no holiday procession. As had been 
foreseen, there were obstacles, and plenty of 
them. Auxerre would not open Its gates; sent, 
it was said, a bribe of two thousand crowns to 
save Itself from assault; but sent also food (at 
a price!) to the advancing army. 

Troyes, a little farther on, had sworn al- 
legiance to England and Burgundy. Corona- 
tion at Rheims? The Trojans knew nothing 

186 



RHEIMS 

about it. They had a garrison, English and 
Burgundian, five or six thousand good stout 
men; they snapped their fingers at Maid and 
Dauphin; would not hear of admitting them. 
Had not Brother Richard, the Cordelier friar, 
warned them against this Maid, saying that 
she was, or might be, a female Antichrist? 
Had he not bidden them sow beans in vast 
quantities in case of emergency? 

Here were the beans, whole fields of them, 
in evidence! here was also Brother Richard 
himself, breathing forth fire and fury. Pres- 
ently the holy brother, who seems to have been 
a second edition of Father Thomas, preaching 
repentance and practicing the destruction of 
vanities, came forth to exorcise the Maid; 
threw holy water at her, and made the sign 
of the cross. Joan laughed her pleasant, merry 
laugh; bade him take courage and come for- 
ward. She would not fly away, she assured 
him. Whereupon, at nearer view of the sup- 
posed sorceress and limb of evil. Brother 
Richard suffered a sudden change of heart; 
perceived that here was a thing divine; plumped 
down on his knees to do homage : but the good 
Maid knelt too, humbly, in token that she was 

187 



JOAN OF ARC 

"of like passions*' with himself. Soon the pair 
were good friends, and the friar hurried back 
to the city and declared that the Maid was of 
God, and could if she wished fly over the walls. 

Troyes heard, but kept its gates shut. 
Anxious council was held in the Dauphin's 
camp ; La TremoTlle advised retreat ; had he not 
said all along, etc., etc. 

The archbishop of Rheims, chancellor of 
France and a tool of La Tremo'ille, drew lurid 
pictures of the strength of Troyes and the 
contumaciousness of its people. They never 
would yield; the supplies of the army were 
running low. Best retire while they could do 
so with safety. The councillors were called on 
in turn for their opinion; some advised re- 
treating, some passing by the obstinate town in 
hope of faring better elsewhere; hardly one 
favored an attack on the city. 

When the turn came of Robert de Magon, 
sometime chancellor (of Charles VL), he said 
bluntly, "This march was begun not because 
we were rich in money or strong in men, but 
because Joan the Maid said it was the will of 
God. Let the Maid be summoned, and let 

1 88 



RHEIMS 

the Council hear what she has to say on the 
matter!'' 

Joan was sent for, and was told the sense of 
the meeting; the lions in the path; the neces- 
sity of retreat. 

To the Archbishop, who addressed her, she 
made no reply, but turned to her prince. 

"Do you believe all this, gentle Dauphin?" 
she asked. 

Charles was not sure, perhaps, what La 
Tremoi'lle would allow him to believe. He 
made cautious answer; if the Maid had any- 
thing profitable and reasonable to say, she 
would be trusted. 

*'Good Dauphin," said the Maid in her clear 
thrilling voice, ^'command your people to ad- 
vance to the siege, and waste no more time in 
councils; in God's name, before three days pass 
I will bring you into Troyes, by favor or force 
or valor, and false Burgundy shall be greatly 
amazed." 

Even the Archbishop seems to have been 
impressed by these words. 

*'Joan," he said, "we could wait for six days 
were we sure of having the town, but can we 
be sure?'* 

189 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Have no doubt of it!" replied the Maid. 
Thereupon she mounted her horse and rode 
through the camp, banner in hand, exhorting, 
encouraging, ordering preparations for the 
assault. 

Following the example of the English at 
Meung, she collected doors, tables, screens, to 
shelter the advance, bundles of fagots to fill in 
the ditches. 

"Immediately," says Dunols (quorum pars 
magna, we may well believe), "she crossed the 
river with the royal army and pitched tents 
close by the wall, laboring with a diligence that 
not two or three most experienced and re- 
nowned captains could have shown.'* 

All night she worked, never pausing for an 
hour. When morning broke, the burgesses of 
Troyes, looking over their battlements, saw an 
army in storming array; saw in the very front 
a slender figure in white armor, waving on her 
men. 

"To the assault I" cried the Maid; and made 
a sign to fill the ditch with fagots. At the 
sight the hearts of the men of Troyes turned 
to water. They sent their Bishop to make 

I go 



RHEIMS 

terms, and the city opened its gates to the 
Dauphin and the Maid. 

Four days later the Bishop of Chalons ap- 
peared with the keys of his city, which the little 
Army of Triumph entered July 14th. At 
Chalons Joan found several men of Domremy, 
who had come from the village to see the 
glory of their own Maid. To one of them, 
her godfather, she gave a red cap — or some 
say a robe — that she had worn ; she was full of 
kindly and neighborly words; told one of them 
who had been Burgundlan in his sympathies 
that she feared nothing but treachery. About 
this time she said to the king, in Alengon's 
hearing, "Make good use of my time! I shall 
hardly last longer than a year." 

Two days after this, halting at Sept-Saule, 
the Dauphin received a deputation from 
Rhelms. The holy city had been strongly 
Anglo-Burgundian till now; had vowed unshak- 
able loyalty to John of Bedford and Philip of 
Burgundy. But this was while Troyes still held 
out; Troyes, which had "sworn on the precious 
body of Jesus Christ to resist to the death." 
Now, Troyes had submitted, and her people 
wrote to those of Rheims begging them to do 

191 



JOAN OF ARC 

likewise, assuring them that the Dauphin was 
everything that was lovely and of good report ; 
moreover, *^une belle personneT' Their own 
Archbishop wrote too, charging them to make 
submission to their lawful prince. What was 
a holy city to do? 

"Bow thy head meekly, O SIcambrlanI 

adore " was St. Remy speaking again In 

the person of this peasant maid? Must the 
city of Clovls bow like him, taking on new 
vows and forswearing old? 

There seemed no help for it. Accordingly 
the deputation was sent, inviting Charles to 
enter his loyal city of Rhelms; and people 
began to make ready for the coronation. 

Rhelms; Durocortorum of the Romans; an 
Important town in the days of Caesar, faithful 
to him and to his followers, and receiving 
special favors in recognition of its fidelity. 

The Vandals captured it in 406, and slew 
St. Nicasus; later, Attila and his Huns visited 
it with fire and sword. Later still, as we know, 
it saw the baptism of Clovis, and became the 
Holy City of France, where all her kings would 
fain be crowned. Did not men say that the 
phial of oil used in that kingly baptism by St. 

192 



RHEIMS 

Remy, and still preserved In his abbey, was 
brought to him by a white dove, straight from 
heaven? Accordingly the kings were crowned 
there, from Philip Augustus In 1180 to 
Charles X. in 1824. 

Now, on the seventeenth day of July, 1429, 
Charles of Valois, seventh of that name, was 
to receive his solemn sacring, and to become 
king of France de jure, if not yet de facto. 
The ceremony began at nine In the morning. 

"A right fair thing it was,*' wrote Pierre de 
Beauvais to the queen, *'to see that fair mys- 
tery, for it was as solemn and as well adorned 
with all things thereto pertaining, as If it had 
been ordered a year before." ^ 

First, a company of knights and nobles In 
full armor, headed by the Marechal de 
Boursac, rode out to meet the Abbot of St. 
Remy, who came from his abbey bringing the 
holy phial (ampoule). Then they all rode Into 
the cathedral, and alighted at the choir-gate. 
There met them Charles the Dauphin, and 
presently received his consecration at the hands 
of the Archbishop, and was anointed and 
crowned king of France. The people shouted 

* Trans. A. Lang. 
193 



JOAN OF ARC 

^'Noeir^ and blessed God for the auspicious 
day. 

"And the trumpets sounded so that you 
might think the roofs would be rent. And 
always during that mystery the Maid stood next 
the King, her standard in her hand. A right 
fair thing it was to see the goodly manners 
of the King and the Maid." ^ 

D'Albert carried the Sword of State; 
Alengon gave the accolade. Guy de Laval 
was there, and La Tremoille, and many others 
whose names we know; all in their brightest 
armor, we may be sure, with much clanking 
of swords and waving of banners. We hardly 
see them; all our eyes are for the Maid (she 
also in full armor, as becomes a good soldier), 
as she kneels before the King she has made, 
embracing his knees and weeping for joy. 

"Gentle King," she says, "now is accom- 
plished the Will of God, who decreed that I 
should raise the siege of Orleans and bring 
you to this city of Rheims to receive your 
solemn sacring, thereby showing that you are 
the true king, and that France shall be yours." 

The chronicle adds, "And right great pity 
came upon all who saw her, and many wept." 

* Trans. A. Lang. 
194 



RHEIMS 

If this might have been the end ! if she might 
have turned now, in the hour of her triumph, 
her task accomplished, and the bidding of her 
Voices done — have turned away from the war- 
fare and the pomp, the cabals and the Intrigues, 
and gone back to Domremy, to tend her sheep 
and mind her spinning-wheel, and dream over 
"the great days done!" 

Tradition has long held that this was the 
wish of her heart, and that after the corona- 
tion she begged Charles to let her depart in 
peace, now that her mission w^as ended. This 
legend seems to have no foundation in fact; 
it probably sprang from the universal feeling; 
*'Might it have been!" We shall see, how- 
ever, that somewhat later she expressed to 
others her desire to depart. The relief of Or- 
leans and the coronation of the king were all, 
says Dunols, that she actually claimed as her 
mission; beyond this all was vague. Still, the 
Voices said that the English must be driven 
from French soil, and Joan was the last one 
to take her hand from the plough while work 
was still to do. Forward then, In God's name, 
since thus it must be ! 

I have never seen Rheims Cathedral, and 

195 



JOAN OF ARC 

now I shall never see it with my bodily eyes*, 
yet to me, as to all of this day and generation, 
it is intimately familiar in both its aspects. 
First we see it the crown and glory of Gothic 
architecture, the ^'frozen music,*' the "rugged 
lacework" whose praises men have sung for 
seven hundred years, yet whose beauty has 
never been expressed in words. 

Next we see it — every child knows how. Let 
us not dwell upon it. One thought brightens 
against the dark background of ruin and deso- 
lation. Through all the four-years' agony of 
Rheims, while this sacred Heart of her was 
crashing and splintering under the deadly 
shell-fire; while the splendors of its great rose- 
window were tinkling in rainbow showers 
down on its uptorn pavements; while the very 
lead from its roofs was dripping down in 
those curious lengths and festoons of clinging 
particles which men now call "the tears of 
Rheims," one thing remained untouched. Be- 
fore the Cathedral (which with Its ruined and 
dying body seemed to shelter her), quiet 
through the thunders of the bombardment, 
marble on her marble steed, still sat the Maid 
of France. 

196' 



CHAPTER XIV 

PARIS 

CHARLES of Valois was king of France. 
The first of Joan's appointed tasks 
was fulfilled, and with clear faith and resolve 
she turned to the second. The English must 
be driven from the soil of France. To this 
end, the word was "Paris!" and on Paris, 
might the Maid have her way, the king's 
conquering army should march forthwith. 

She and Alengon had thought to set out 
the day after the coronation; but on the very 
day of the ceremony, July 17th, came to 
Rhelms an embassy from Philip Duke of Bur- 
gundy, asking for a truce. 

Joan greatly desired peace with Burgundy, 
knowing that there could be no lasting victory 
without it. She had written to the Duke a 
month before this, but had received no reply; 
now, on July 17th, she wrote again in her 
simple direct fashion. 

197 



JOAN OF ARC 

"High and mighty prince, duke of Bur- 
gundy, I, Joan the Maid, in the name of the 
King of Heaven, my rightful and sovereign 
Lord, bid you and the king of France make a 
good, firm peace, which shall endure. Do each 
of you pardon the other, heartily and wholly, 
as loyal Christians should, and, if you like to 
fight, go against the Saracens. Prince of 
Burgundy, I pray and beseech and beg you as 
humbly as I may, that you war no more on 
the holy kingdom of France, but at once cause 
your people who are in any places and for- 
tresses of this holy kingdom to withdraw; and 
as for the gentle king of France, he is ready 
to make peace with you if you are willing, 
saving his honor; and I bid you know, in the 
name of the King of Heaven, my rightful and 
sovereign Lord, for your well-being and your 
honor and on your life, that you will never 
gain a battle against loyal Frenchmen; and that 
all who war in the holy kingdom of France 
war against King Jesus, King of Heaven and 
all the earth, my rightful and sovereign Lord. 
With folded hands I pray and beg you to fight 
no battle and wage no war against us, neither 
you, your soldiers, nor your people, for what- 

198 



PARIS 

ever number of soldiers you bring against us, 
know of a surety that they shall gain nothing, 
but it will be a great pity to see the great battle 
and the blood which will flow from those who 
come there against us. Three weeks ago I 
wrote and sent you good letters by a herald, 
bidding you to the king's consecration, which 
takes place to-day, Sunday, the seventeenth of 
this present month of July, in the city of 
Rhelms, but I have had no answer, and have 
heard no news of the herald. To God I com- 
mend you, and may He keep you, if it please 
Him, and I pray God to bring about a good 
peace. "^ 

The very day after came the Burgundian 
envoys, with peace on their lips. Joan could 
not know that a few days before, while she 
and Charles were before Troyes, Philip of 
Burgundy had entered Paris in person, and 
standing beside John of Bedford had pro- 
claimed his wrongs, telling again the oft-told 
tale of his father's murder, and calling on the 
people of Paris to swear allegiance to himself 
and Bedford. Having done this, he dispatched 
his embassy to beguile Charles into a truce, 

* Lowell, pp. i6i and 162. 
199 



JOAN OF ARC 

which should give him and the English time 
to make further preparations. 

Charles was always ready to be beguiled. 
For the moment, however, the tide of triumph 
and devotion was too strong for him. He was 
carried hither and thither by it ; to the abbey of 
St. Macbul, where he "touched" for the King's 
Evil; to Solssons, the keys of which had been 
sent him in due submission. Everywhere he 
was received with joyful acclamations; every- 
where the Maid rode before him, in the 
knight's or page's dress which she affected 
when not in armor, trunks and short coat of 
rich materials, well furred. What had become 
of the scarlet and green Orleans costume we do 
not know ; in any case she could not have worn 
it on horseback. 

The way lay clear before them to Paris, only 
sixty miles distant. One might think that even 
Charles VII. might have heard the Brazen 
Head of the fable speak loud and clear: *'Time 
isr 

But Charles was listening to the men of 
Burgundy, and dawdling, which after all was 
the occupation he loved best. He spent four 
or five precious days at Solssons, then dawdled 

200 



PARIS 

across the Marne to Chateau Thierry, where 
six hundred years later Yankee boys were to 
defend gloriously that soil of France which he 
betrayed and insulted. At Chateau Thierry he 
at least did one thing. On the last day of July 
"in favor and at the request of our beloved Joan 
the Maid, considering the great, high, notable 
and profitable service which she has rendered 
and doth daily render us in the recovery of our 
kingdom," the king declared the villages of 
Domremy and Greux free from taxes forever. 
Through nearly three hundred years the tax- 
gatherer's book bore these words, written 
against the names of these two villages: ^'Noth- 
ing; for the Maid/* In the reign of Louis 
XV. this freedom, with many others, came to 
an end. 

As Charles loitered about the neighborhood, 
as contemptible a figure as History can show 
in all her ample page, the delighted people still 
flocked from neighboring towns and villages to 
do homage to him and the Maid. Joan loved 
these plain country folk with their joyous greet- 
ings. *'What good devout people these are!" 
she exclaimed one day, as she rode between 
Dunois and the archbishop of Rheims. "Never 

201 



JOAN OF ARC 

have I seen any people who so greatly rejoiced 
over the coming of a king so noble. When I 
come to die, I would well that it might be in 
these parts." 

*'Joan/* said the archbishop, "Is it known to 
you when you will die, and at what place?*' 

Dunois, who rode at her bridle rein, reports 
her answer. 

"Where it shall please God I Of the 
hour and the place I know no more than 
you. I have done that which my Lord com- 
manded me, to deliver Orleans and have the 
gentle king crowned. Would that it might 
please God my Creator to suffer me to depart 
at this time and lay down my arms, and go 
to serve my father and mother in keeping their 
sheep, with my sisters and brothers, who would 
be right glad to see me." 

And all the people shall say Amen! 

Was the good Maid beginning to have 
glimpses of the clay feet of her idol? If so, 
she gave no sign. Her loyalty never wavered 
for an instant, but she was bewildered — how 
should she not have been? — at the result of 
her shining deeds. She had laid a kingdom at 
Charles's feet; he let it lie there, and drifted 

202 



PARIS 

from place to place, dragging her with him. 
On August 5th she wrote a pathetic letter to 
the people of Rheims, doing her poor best to 
reassure them, who saw their new crowned king 
apparently deserting them. 

*'Dear and good friends," she says, *'good 
and loyal Frenchmen, the Maid sends you her 
greetings" ; and goes on to assure them that she 
will never abandon them while she lives. 
"True it is that the King has made a fifteen 
days' truce with the Duke of Burgundy, who 
is to give up to him the town of Paris on the 
fifteenth day. Although the truce Is made, I 
am not content, and am not certain that I will 
keep It. If I do. It will be merely for the sake 
of the King's honor, and In case they do not 
deceive the blood royal, for, I will keep the 
King's army together and in readiness, at the 
end of the fifteen days, if peace Is not made." * 

Finally she bade the people trust her, and 
be of good heart — striving, poor soul, to lift 
their hearts, while her own was sinking daily 
— and to warn her if traitors should be found 
among them. 

John of Bedford, one may think, was no 

* Translated by Andrew Lang. 
203 



JOAN OF ARC 

less puzzled than the Maid. He too saw the 
kingdom at those loitering, shambling feet; 
but he was not the man to wait the pleasure 
of the shambler. He sent to England for five 
thousand stout men-at-arms, and established 
them in Paris. One division of this army bore 
a standard, in the centre of which appeared a 
distaff filled with cotton, with a half-filled 
spindle hanging to it. The field was set with 
empty spindles, and inscribed with the legend: 
**Now, fair one, come!" 

At the same time Bedford sent a letter to 
Charles from Montereau, beginning, "You 
formerly self-styled Dauphin, and now calling 
yourself King," charging him with receiving 
help from an abandoned and dissolute woman, 
wearing men's apparel, and an apostate and 
seditious Friar; "both, according to Holy 
Scripture, things abominable to God." The 
duke begged the king to have pity on the 
unhappy people of France, and to meet him at 
some convenient place, where terms of peace 
might be discussed. It should be a true peace, 
not like that once made by Charles at this 
very Montereau, just before he treacherously 
slew the duke of Burgundy. Finally, Bedford 

204 



PARIS 

challenged Charles to single combat (for which 
probably no man in France, unless it were La 
Tremoille, had less stomach) and appealed to 
the Almighty, who then as now was claimed 
as bosom friend by all would-be autocrats. 
Having dispatched this letter, which he hoped 
would sting Charles into action of some sort, 
John of Bedford went back to Paris, and 
set his army in battle array before the closed 
gates of the city. 

Ever since the relief of Orleans, the English 
had not ceased to assure Joan as occasion 
served, that whenever and wherever they could 
lay hands on her they would burn her. The 
Maid was only too eager to give them their 
chance. 

"I cry, *Go against the English!'" she ex- 
claimed. 

At last, after endless "to-ing and fro-ing," 
Joan and Alengon took matters into their 
own hands, and started for Paris, leaving the 
king to follow as he might. On August 14th 
they encountered Bedford at Montepllloy, 
strongly intrenched, in an excellent position. 
The French advanced to within two bowshots, 
and boldly defied him to battle. But Bedford 

205 



JOAN OF ARC 

had no idea of giving them battle; forbade 
any general sortie — but, on the French knights* 
advancing to the very walls, shouting defiance 
— allowed a little genteel skirmishing here and 
there. The Maid herself, when she saw that 
the foe would not come out, "rode to the 
front, standard in hand and smote the English 
palisade." Nothing came of it, except a few 
more skirmishes. Next day the French re- 
treated, thinking to draw their enemy out in 
pursuit; whereupon the wily Bedford turned 
about and went back to Paris, "having faced 
without disaster a superior French force, hav- 
ing encouraged his own troops, and shaken the 
popular faith in Joan." ^ 

Finding the English gone, Joan, Alengon, 
and Charles went to Compiegne, which had re- 
cently sent in its submission, as had Beauvais 
and Senlis. 

Compiegne received its precious king with 
apparent enthusiasm. With these three towns 
secure, Joan's spirit rose again for a moment. 
Now, at last, the way lay open. Forward to 
Paris, while time still was ! 

* Lowell, pp. i68 and 169. 
206 



PARIS 

Charles found Compiegne a pleasant place, 
and saw no hurry; was busy, moreover, coquet- 
ting again with Burgundy. 

*'The Maid was in grief," says the chronicle, 
**for the King's long tarrying at Compiegne; 
and it seemed he was content, as was his wont, 
with such grace as God had granted him, and 
would seek no further adventure." 

Once more the Maid set out with her faith- 
ful army, this time really for Paris, halting not 
till she reached St. Denis. No sooner was her 
back turned than Charles and La Tremoille 
concluded a general truce, to begin at once, 
August 28th, and to last till Christmas. The 
English might benefit by it whenever they 
wished; while it lasted, no more cities might 
submit to Charles, however much they might 
wish to do so. The Peace Party had triumphed 
for the moment. 

Meanwhile the Maid was at the gates of 
Paris; with the king's permission, let us re- 
member ! 

He allowed her to attack the city, prac- 
tically at the same moment when he agreed to 
recognize Burgundy as holding it against her. 

207 



JOAN OF ARC 

Who shall read this riddle? The "Campaign 
of Dupes/* as it has been called, has puzzled 
historians from that day to this. For us, it is 
perhaps enough to remember the inheritance 
of this wretched mortal, child of a mad father 
and a bad mother. He had already signed the 
pact with Burgundy when Alengon, after re- 
peated efforts, finally succeeded in dislodging 
him from his perch at Senlls, and dragged him 
as far as St. Denis. Here he would be safe, 
and his near presence would hearten the troops. 
So thought Joan and Alengon, and so it 
proved for the moment. There was great re- 
joicing. "She will put the king in Paris," 
people said, "if he will let her!" and the men 
of Orleans and Patay rode about and about 
the city, examining the fortifications, seeking 
the best place for an assault, and sending in- 
flammatory messages to their friends inside the 
walls, those who had once thrilled to the cry 
of "Armagnacl" and who were now ready to 
rally to the white standard of the Maid. 

September 8th was the Festival of the birth 
of St. Mary the Virgin. As a rule, Joan did 
not like to fight on holy days; but the captains 
were eager to attack, her Voices did not for- 

208 



PARIS 

bid, her military instinct bade her strike. At 
eight in the morning, she, with old de Gau- 
court and Gilles de Rais, advanced against the 
gate of St. Honore, while Alengon with the 
reserve forces remained on guard in case of 
a possible sortie. 

There are many accounts of this attack. A 
curious one is that of the Bourgeois de Paris, 
whose Journal throws so vivid a light on these 
wild times. The Bourgeois was an ardent 
Burgundian, and had no good to say of any- 
thing connected with the Armagnacs or their 
successors. 

"Les Armenalx," he still calls the royal 
army; and tells how it appeared before Paris 
with **a creature in the form of a woman, 
whom they called the Maid." *'They came," 
he said, "about the hour of High Mass, be- 
tween eleven and twelve, their Pucelle with 
them, and great store of chariots, carts, and 
horses, all loaded with huge fagots to fill the 
fosses of Paris, and began to assault between 
the gate of St. Honore and the gate St. Denis, 
and the assault was very cruel; and in attack- 
ing they said many ill words to those of Paris. 
And there was their Pucelle with her standard 

209 



JOAN OF ARC 

on the edge of the fosse crying to those of 
Paris, *Yield you in the name of Jesus, to us, 
and that quickly, for if you do not yield before 
night, we shall enter by force, will you nill you, 
and all shall be put to death without mercy.* " 

These last words do not ring true; we know 
that Joan was always for sparing life when it 
was possible. Another Anglo-Burgundian, 
Clement de Fauquembergen, describes how the 
people, at news of the attack, fled from the 
churches, where they were at prayers, and hid 
in their cellars; while the defenders of the city 
took their stations on the walls and made 
valiant defence, giving the assailants back shot 
for shot, bolt for bolt. 

The first ditch was deep but dry, the second 
filled with water. Those watching from the 
walls saw a slender white-clad figure spring for- 
ward from the French ranks, lance in hand; 
saw it climb slowly and carefully down and 
up the steep sides of the dry ditch, and stand 
on the brink of the moat. 

"The Maid! the Witch of Armagnac!" the 
murmur ran like flame along the walls, and 
archers and gunners sprang to their posts and 
took 'careful aim at the shining figure. 

2IO 



PARIS 

Serene, unmoved, amid a storm of bullets 
and arrows, the Maid stood beside the water, 
probing its black depth with her lance; calling 
on her men to follow her. So she stands for 
all time, one of the imperishable pictures. 

Another moment, and a bolt from an arblast 
struck her down. Still, as she lay bleeding 
from a wound in the thigh, she ceased not to 
cheer the French on to the assault. Let them 
only fill the ditch, she cried, and all would be 
well; the city would be theirs. 

It was not to be. The garrison, seeing her 
fall, redoubled their volleys of iron and stone ; 
the assailants were weary, twilight was gather- 
ing, and no radiant armor shone through the 
dusk to light them on. Now it was night, and 
all but the Maid knew that the end had come. 
She, lying beside the ditch, refusing to be 
moved, still cried for the charge, still gave 
assurance of victory. At last, long after night- 
fall, Alengon and de Gaucourt, unable to pre- 
vail upon her otherwise, lifted her out of the 
fosse, set her on a horse, and rode back to the 
line. 

'*Par mon martin** she still cried, "the place 
would have been taken!" 

211 



JOAN OF ABC 

One at least of the Burgundian chroniclers 
is of her mind. "Had anyone in the king's 
command," he says, "been as manly as Joan, 
Paris would have been in danger of capture; 
but none of the others could agree upon the 
matter." 

Next morning, Friday the ninth, the Maid 
sent for Alengon and implored him to sound 
the trumpets and lead the assault. She would 
never leave the spot, she vowed, till the city 
was taken. Alengon was willing enough, 
and some of the captains with him; others de- 
murred. While they debated the matter, came 
messengers from the king, with orders for 
them to return at once to St. Denis. La Trc- 
moille had won, and Paris was lost. 

Sick at heart, the wounded Maid, with faith- 
ful Alengon beside her, rode back, to find 
Charles busy with plans for retreat. Even 
Joan must now, one would think, have realized 
that all was over; yet the two comrades made 
one last gallant effort. The south wall of Paris 
might be less strong than that near the gate of 
St. Honore. Alengon had already built a 
bridge across the Seine near St. Denis; how if 

212 



PARIS 

they crossed this bridge with a chosen few and 
surprised the town? 

Early next morning they rode forth on their 
perilous venture — to find the bridge destroyed 
by order of the king. 

Now indeed Joan tasted the bitterness of 
defeat. She spoke no word, but her action 
spoke for her. She hung up her armor before 
the statue of the Virgin Mother in the 
cathedral. 

Her Voices bade her stay in St. Denis, but 
for once she must disobey them, obedience not 
being in her power. Three days later Charles 
left the place, dragging his followers with him. 
A hasty march back to the Loire, and on Sep- 
tember 2 1st the king dined at Gien, well out 
of the way of English and Burgundians. 

"And thus," says the chronicle, **were broken 
the will of the Maid and the army of the 
king." 



CHAPTER XV 

COMPIEGNE 

AT Gien, the little old town where Charle- 
magne's castle frowned down upon the 
peaceful Loire, was bitter wrangling in the 
days that followed. La Tremo'ille had got his 
truce, and meant to enjoy it; Alengon's lance 
was still in rest; he demanded another cam- 
paign, in Normandy this time, and the Maid 
to lead it with him. Joan, with unerring 
glance, saw the thing that should be done. Let 
her go* to the Isle of France, and from that 
spot of vantage cut off the supplies of Paris 
as they came down the river, and so reduce the 
city! Both these requests were put by. La 
Tremo'ille did not mean that Alencon and 
the Maid should ever fight side by side again. 
He had his way; the fiery duke, deprived of 
his command, left the court in anger, and re- 
tired to his estate. No sooner was he gone, 
than Charles disbanded the army, and fell to 

214 



COMPIEGNE 

his dawdling again. Once more the Brazen 
Head had spoken: *'Tinie zvasT 

Hither and yon he drifted, a dead leaf skip- 
ping before the wind; with him, would she or 
no, went the Maid. Her bright arms were 
dimmed now by defeat, but still she was valu- 
able — and dangerous! Charles was not yet 
ready to give her up; La fremoille did not 
dare to let her go; she drifted with the rest. 
At Selles the queen met her precious spouse, 
and together they drifted to Bourges. Here 
Joan wasjodged in the house of Marguerite 
La Touroulde, a gentlewoman of the queen's 
train, and stayed there some weeks, praying 
often In the churches, giving to the poor, bear- 
ing herself, as ever, simply and modestly. 
Girls brought her their rosaries, begging her 
to touch them. "Touch them yourselves 1" she 
said laughing. 'They will get as much good 
from your touch as from mine." 

She talked much with her kindly hostess, as 
they sat together In the house, or went to and 
from mass and confession. Dame Margaret 
suggested that probably Joan's courage in 
battle came from the knowledge that she would 
not be killed. 

215 



JOAN OF ARC 

"I have no such knowledge," said the Maid; 
**no more than anybody else.*' 

This good woman testified later that Joan 
gave freely to the poor and with a glad heart, 
saying, "I am sent for the comfort of the poor 
and needy." Testified also that the Maid was 
"very simple and innocent, knowing almost 
nothing except in affairs of war."^ 

Meantime, Charles and La Tremo'ille were 
holding councils, after their manner. What to 
do, with affairs in general, with the Maid in 
particular? They must not stir up Burgundy; 
it would be well to let the English alone just 
now, while the truce held; yet here was this 
little saintly firebrand, demanding persistently 
to be allowed to save the kingdom! Who 
wanted to save the kingdom? Certainly not 
La Tremo'ille. At last, after much cogitation, 
he hit on a project, at once safe and promising. 
Here were two little river towns. La Charite 
and St. Pierre le Moustier, conveniently near 
by, held for Burgundy by two soldiers of 
fortune, Perrinet Grasset (who began life a 
mason), and Francis of Surienne, a Spaniard, 
uncle of that Rodrigo Borgia who was later 

'Lang, p. 190. 
216 



COMPIEGNE 

to dlsedify Christendom as Pope Alexander 
VI. La Tremo'ille had a grudge against 
Grasset; had been captured by him once upon 
a time, and made to pay a large ransom, to his 
great inconvenience. Why not get up an ex- 
pedition against these two places, and send the 
Maid In charge? If she succeeded, well; if 
not — still well enough! She would be dis- 
credited, and little harm done. They did not 
actually need La Charlte and St. Pierre le 
Moustier, though they would be handy posses- 
sions against possible breaking of the truce. 

La Tremoille proposed, Charles and the 
Council assented. Joan, poor child, welcomed 
any chance for action. Late In October she 
left Bourges, and with her, as titular com- 
mander, Charles of Albret, brother-in-law and 
follower of La Tremoille, yet withal a good 
soldier, who had fought with her at Patay. 

St. Pierre le Moustier stood high on Its steep 
bluff over the river Allier: a strong little town, 
well placed, well fortified, well garrisoned. 
Albret and Joan invested it in regular form, 
and after a week of bombardment, having 
made a practicable breach, orders were given 
for an assault. The French advanced gal- 

217 



JOAN OF ARC 

lantly, but could make no head against the fire 
of the defenders. They wavered, began to fall 
back. But they had to reckon with the Maid, 
unwounded this time, and feeling her power 
come upon her. Standing on the edge of the 
fosse, as she had stood at Paris, she called 
upon her men to come forward to the assault. 
They hesitated; for a few moments she stood 
there almost alone, with only two or three 
lances about her, among them probably her 
two brothers, who never deserted her.^ 

D'Aulon, her faithful squire, had been 
wounded, and stood at a little distance, lean- 
ing on his crutches and looking on. Seeing, as 
he thought, all lost for the time being, he man- 
aged to get on his horse, and riding up to the 
Maid, asked why she stood there in peril of her 
life, instead of retreating with the others. 

Raising the visor of her helmet, Joan looked 
him full in the face. "I am not alone !'* she 
said quietly. "With me are fifty thousand of 
my own, and I will not leave this spot till the 
town is taken." 

A strange answer; d'Aulon was a literal- 

*They joined her probably at Orleans; little more is 
known about them. 

2l8 



COMPIEGNE 

minded youth. He looked about him, be- 
wildered. ^'Whatever she might say/' he says 
in telling the story, "she had only four or five 
men with her, I know it for certain, and so do 
several others who looked on; so I urged her 
to go back with the rest. Then she bade me 
tell them to bring fagots and fascines to bridge 
the moat, and she herself in a clear voice gave 
the same order." 

Was it the sight of her? When they failed 
at Paris, was it because the white-clad figure 
lay unseen in the fosse, though the brave 
piteous voice still rang like a trumpet through 
that twilight of despair? D'Aulon thought it 
a miracle, as would most people of his time. 
All in a moment, it seemed, the thing was done; 
the moat bridged, the troops over it, the town 
stormed and taken "with no great resistance." 

Yet once more, Joan, before your year is 
over, before your bright day darkens into 
night! St. John's Day is near. 

At La Charite there were no shining deeds; 
no victory of any sort. For a month the 
French army lay before the place, and once 
an assault was attempted; but the weather was 
bad, the men weary, hungry, dispirited; briefly, 

219 



JOAN OF ARC 

it was November Instead of October. Charles, 
though he had given Joan money for the poor 
of Bourges, had none for feeding and clothing 
his army. The town must have yielded soon, 
men thought, since no one came to succor It; 
but the French could neither besiege nor as- 
sault on empty stomachs, and the siege was 
abandoned. Charles, as a sugarplum to con- 
sole the heartsick Maid, conferred a patent 
of nobility on her and all her family; "that the 
memory of the divine glory and of so many 
favors may endure and increase forever." 

It was a pretty stone, to take the place of 
bread. A shining quartz pebble, shall we say? 
Or that curious thing called Iron pyrite, which 
has been taken for gold before now, in a good 
light and by the right kind of person. Joan 
paid little heed to it; would never change her 
sacred devices, the Annunciation, the Cruci- 
fixion, the Creator on his throne, for any 
other; but her brothers set up a shield, with 
two lilies on it, and between these a sword 
supporting a crown. Yes, and they called 
themselves "Du Lys" Instead of "D'Arc." 
This was all they got; I have not heard that 
the king so much as offered to pay for painting 

220 



COMPIEGNE 

the new shield. The city of Orleans took a 
different view of matters, and endowed the 
mother of its own Maid with a pension which 
made her comfortable for life. 

We know little of this winter of sorrow, the 
last in which Joan of Arc was to breathe free 
air. She spent part of It In Orleans, where 
the faithful people made much of her as usual; 
part at Mehun on the Yevre, where Charles 
kept his winter court. The truce with Bur- 
gundy had been extended to Easter 1430. 
John of Bedford had been kindly invited to 
share It, but declined, and kept up a lively 
guerilla warfare In Normandy. There was 
more or less fighting around Paris, too; but 
with that we have no special concern. 

At Mehun there was nothing for Joan to 
do. She was no courtier; she was not wanted 
at the Councils over which the fatuous King 
and his fat favorite presided. Since Paris and 
La Charlte, the crowd did not flock so eagerly 
to see her. Indeed, people began to talk about 
other wonderful women who appeared about 
this time. Catherine of La Rochelle, for 
example, had been visited by a lady In white 
and gold, who bade her ask the king for 

221 



JOAN OF ARC 

heralds and trumpeters and go about the 
country raising money. She had, it appeared, 
the secret of finding hidden treasure. How, 
people asked, if here were a new revelation? 
The Maid's was an old story by this time. 
Moreover, there were rumors of other Pucelles 
here and there; and at Monlieu, as was well 
known, lived a real saint, St. Colette, who 
could make the sun rise three hours late, and 
play — in a saintly way — the mischief with the 
laws of Nature generally. 

Our Maid was at Monlieu that very Novem- 
ber; she may have met St. Colette, and talked 
with her of matters human and divine; who 
knows ? 

We do know that she met Catherine of La 
Rochelle, who came to Mehun that autumn or 
winter; and that she advised the lady to go 
home, see to her household (she was a mar- 
ried woman), and take care of her children. 
Catherine in return advised Joan not to go to 
La Charite, "because it was much too cold." 
Evidently, a lady who liked her little comforts. 
Joan asked St. Catherine about her namesake, 
and was told that her story was nonsense. 
Still, the two women had much talk together. 

222 



COMPIEGNE 

The Rochellaise had high ambitions, was not 
in the least minded to go home to husband and 
children. She wanted to go in person to Philip 
of Burgundy and make peace; she wanted to 
prophesy for the king; like Nick Bottom, she 
would play the lion, too. Joan seems to have 
been patient with her; sat up all one night in 
her company, to see the lady in white and gold, 
who failed to appear. We need not concern 
ourselves further with Catherine of La 
Rochelle, though Brother Richard, the Francis- 
can, admired her greatly, and would fain have 
set her up on a pedestal beside Joan. She faded 
away presently, and is visible to-day only by a 
little reflected light from the flare of the Maid. 

Winter came to an end at last, and with 
it the truce. Philip of Burgundy resumed 
hostilities, and Joan burnished her white 
armor, and laid her lance in rest with right 
good will. The end was near; all the more 
would she fight the good fight, so long as she 
was permitted. 

About this time the people of Rheims wrote 
to her in great alarm, begging for help. 
Their captain had abandoned them, and gone 
no one knew whither. They had discovered 

223 



JOAN OF ARC 

a conspiracy, headed by Pierre Cauchon, 
Bishop of Beauvais and Joan's inveterate 
enemy, to deliver them up to the English. The 
discovery was made in time, but who could tell 
what new dangers might await them? 

Joan wrote from Sully on March i6th, 
promising speedy help, and bidding them be 
of good heart, and man their walls in case of 
attack. 

"You should have other good news," she 
says, "whereat you would rejoice, but I fear 
lest this fall into other hands.'' 

A few days later she wrote again, assuring 
them that all Brittany was French at heart, 
and that its duke would shortly send to the 
king three thousand soldiers, paid two months 
in advance. 

In late March or early April she took a new 
step. After months of waiting, after vigils of 
anguished prayer such as we can only feebly 
imagine, she decided to wait no longer for the 
king, but strike by herself one more blow for 
the country. She looked for no help of man; 
she had no encouragement from Heaven. Her 
Voices were not silent, but they spoke vaguely, 
confusedly; prophesied ultimate deliverance of 

224 



I 



COMPIEGNE 

Fran'ce, but said nothing of her being the de- 
liverer; seemed dimly to hint at some forthcom- 
ing disaster. 

Taking no leave of king or Council (al- 
though it seems probable that Charles knew 
of and consented to her departure), receiving 
no direction from saint or angel, she rode out 
from Sully with her "military household," four 
or five lances, among them her brothers and 
the ever-faithful D'Aulon. At Lagny she 
found a little band of men-at-arms who were 
ready to fight for France; they joined forces, 
and rode on toward Paris. There, the Maid 
always knew, lay the key of the situation; 
there, at what Philip of Burgundy called "the 
heart of the mystical body of the kingdom," 
the final blow must be struck. 

The chronicles have little or nothing to say 
about this journey; we know that about Easter, 
April 1 6th, she came to Melun, and that the 
city, hearing of her approach, rose suddenly 
upon its Anglo-Burgundian garrison, drove 
them out of town, and opened wide its gates 
to the Maid. Here was good fortune indeed. 
Joan crossed the Seine, and entered the town 
amid general rejoicings. However it might be 

225 



JOAN OF ARC 

in Royal Councils, the heart of France still 
honored and loved its Pucelle. 

After such deep and manifold humiliations, 
Joan might well have been strengthened in 
spirit as she stood on the ramparts of Melun 
on a certain day in Easter week. Among the 
many pictures of her, I like to conjure up this 
one; to see her standing there, leaning on her 
lance (she was on sentry duty), looking out 
toward that "Isle of France" on whose edge 
she now stood; no "isle'* in reality, but the 
quaintly-named province whose heart was 
Paris. I can see her uplifted look, her kindling 
eyes, can almost hear the deep-drawn breath 
of high resolve and dedication. 

And then the blow fell. 

She had always known that her time was 
short, that she had been given little more than 
a year to fulfill her task; knew moreover, only 
too bitterly well, how much of the short time 
had been frittered away in spite of all her 
efforts; yet she had hoped against hope that she 
might be permitted to finish her allotted task. 

The Voices, I have said, had been confused 
of late; hinting at coming danger, but specify- 
ing nothing. Now, as she stood on the rampart 

226 



COMPIEGNE 

of Melun that April day, they suddenly broke 
the silence, speaking loud and clear. No one 
but herself may tell the story; hear her tell it 
to her judges, a year later: 

"As I was on the ramparts of Melun, St. 
Catherine and St. Margaret warned me that 
I should be captured before Midsummer Day; 
that so it must needs be; nor must I be afraid 
and astounded; but take all things well, for 
God would help me. So they spoke, almost 
every day. And I prayed that when I was 
taken I might die in that hour, without wretch- 
edness of long captivity; but the Voices said 
that so it must be. Often I asked the hour, 
which they told me not ; had I known the hour 
I would not have gone into battle." ^ 

These were the same Voices that had called 
the peasant girl from her quiet home at Dom- 
remy; the same that with trumpet note had 
sent her on from victory to victory, through 
the burning days of Orleans and Patay; now, 
as clear and loud, they pronounced her doom. 
She heard, and bowed her head before the 
heavenly will in meek acceptance. 

Is not this perhaps the most wonderful part 

*A. Lang, p. 203. 
227 



JOAN OF ARC 

of all the heroic story? She never thought of 
escape; it never occurred to her to lay down 
the sword. If it had been so willed, she would 
have held her hand for one hour, would have 
kept her chamber at the moment of fate, if 
haply it might pass and leave her free for 
further effort; since that was not to be, for- 
ward, in God's name! There were still some 
good hours left. 

Only one step higher, good Maid! that final 
step in Rouen Old Market, which shall take 
thee home to thy Father's house. 

From Melun she rode to Lagny (whence 
the news of her presence spread to Paris, 
causing great alarm), and in that neighborhood 
had several skirmishes with the English, with 
little advantage to either side; and so, by-and- 
by, in mid-May, she came to Compiegne. 

I make no apology for dwelling a little on 
these French towns which might — reverently 
be it said — be called the Stations of the Maid. 
Every rod of French ground is now and for 
all time sacred to us and to all lovers of 
Liberty. 

Originally a hunting-lodge of the Frankish 
kings; the Romans called it Compendium. 

228 



COMPIEGNE 

Charles the Bald built two castles there, and 
a Benedictine abbey whose inmates received 
(and kept down to the i8th century), "the 
privilege of acting for three days as lords 
of Compiegne, with full power to release 
prisoners, condemn the guilty, and even inflict 
sentence of death." 

The abbey church treasured the dust of 
three kings; possessed also a famous organ, the 
oldest in France, given by Constantine Cop- 
ronymus (whoever he was!) to Pepin the 
Short. Louis the Debonair was deposed at 
Compiegne. In its palace, Louis XV. received 
Marie Antoinette as his daughter-in-law, 
Napoleon L received Marie Louise as his Em- 
press. In the nineteenth century it was for 
many years the favorite resort of Napoleon III. 
and his court during the hunting season. 

The memory pictures of this latter time are 
brilliant enough. Lovely Empresses, Eugenie 
with her matchless shoulders, Elizabeth, the 
"Violet of Austria" with her glorious hair, 
sweep through the famous forest in their long 
riding habits. Hunting horns sound the morte 
and the hallali; officers in scarlet and gold hold 
high counsel with others in gold and green. 

229 



JOAN OF ARC 

All very gay, very bright; but these pictures 
shift and change like a kaleidoscope. Pres- 
ently they vanish. Half a century passes, as 
a watch in the night. Compiegne looks from 
her girdling towers and sees a gray tide rush 
forward, seething and boiling, almost to her 
very walls; sees it met, stemmed, by a barrier 
of blue and brown, slender, but immovable; 
hears the words which shall ring through all 
centuries to come: 

"Ow ne passe pasT* 

Burgundy greatly desired Compiegne ; would 
have had it before this, but for the stout hearts 
of its citizens. It was in Compiegne that the 
truce was signed, and Duke Philip asked ex- 
plicitly that the city be given up to him while 
the compact held. Charles and La Tremoille 
were willing ; anything to oblige ! The citizens 
were bidden to open their gates to the soldiers 
of Burgundy. Their first answer was to bar 
and double-bar the said gates; their second, to 
send respectful messages to their king. They 
were his true and loyal subjects; their bodies 
and their possessions were his for all faithful 
service; but the duke of Burgundy hated them 
because of their loyalty to the king's Majesty, 

230 



COMPIEGNE 

and they would in nowise let him in; would 
destroy themselves sooner. 

The order was repeated; the gates remained 
closed. Philip of Burgundy stormed; Charles 
was very sorry, but did not see what he 
could do about it; offered Philip Pont St. 
Maxence instead. Philip took the gift, fully 
intending to have Compiegne too; and bided 
his time. He was busy that winter of 1429-30, 
marrying a new wife (his third, Isabella of 
Portugal), and founding the order of the 
Golden Fleece; all this with much pomp of 
tournament and procession. With spring came 
the end of the truce, and the duke took the field 
at once with a large army. Now he would 
have Compiegne, whether she would or no; 
would also overrun the Isle de France, and 
relieve Paris, which still went in fear of its 
life from the "Armagnacs," as Parisians still 
called the Royalist party. 

Before the middle of May Philip was en- 
camped before refractory Compiegne, with 
only the Oise between. Matters now marched 
swiftly. The Oise was deep, could not be 
forded; to take the city they must first take 
Choisy-le-Bac, on the opposite side of the 

231 



JOAN OF ARC 

river, and come at Compiegne from the rear. 
As it happened, the French about this time 
were making a somewhat similar plan. They 
meant to take Pont I'Eveque, now in English 

4 

hands, with its strong defences and its bridge 
across the Oise. This secured, they too would 
make a flank movement, circumvent the enemy, 
and cut his line of communication across the 
river. 

On May 13th the Maid entered Compiegne 
from the south, and was cordially received. 
Here she met for the last time the Archbishop 
of Rheims, her false friend, soon to become 
her declared enemy. On the 14th she attacked 
Pont FEveque, but the place was too strong 
for her little band. On the i6th, Choisy-le- 
Bac yielded to the Burgundians, and Joan re- 
turned to Compiegne. No thoroughfare ! 

Her only way now, as Burgundy had fore- 
seen, was by the bridge of Soissons over the 
Aisne, thirty miles and more away. To 
Soissons, then, in God's name! She set out 
without delay, the Archbishop riding with her, 
and all her troop; reached Soissons — to find 
the gates shut. The traitor who held the city 
for France, a Picard, by name Bournel, was 

232 



COMPIEGNE 

even then making his arrangements with Bur- 
gundy. He refused to open the gates to his 
master^s troops, and shortly after sold his city 
for four thousand salus d'or. The bill of sale 
is extant, and should be curious reading. 

On meeting this check, the French army 
broke up into different parties. Joan de- 
termined to return to Compiegne; was already 
on her way thither when she heard that Bur- 
gundy and the Earl of Arundel were encamped 
before it. Her company was only two hun- 
dred men, commanded by one Baretta, a sol- 
dier of no wide renown. Alas ! where was 
Dunois? Where La Hire, Xaintrailles? Where 
her friend and brother-in-arms, the gentle duke 
of Alengon? All gone! Some of them before 
Paris, keeping the Bourgeois and his like in 
daily terror of their lives; some, it may be, 
with their precious king, who about this time 
made the discovery (and told the people of 
Rheims, as an astounding piece of news!) that 
Burgundy did not really mean to make peace, 
and was definitely on the side of their enemies. 

At midnight of May 22nd, the Maid left 
Crepy with her band, and rode rapidly through 
the forest. The soldiers themselves seem to 

233 



JOAN OF ARC 

have been disheartened at the prospect before 
them. "We are but a handful!" they told her. 
"How can we pass through the armies of 
England and Burgundy?" 

*'Par mon martin!** cried Joan; "we are 
enough. I am going to see my good friends 
at Compiegne." 

That was a wild ride through the midnight 
forest. Fancy, always at her tricks, tempts me 
to make it even wilder; to tamper with the 
Shuttle, and set the Loom astray. How if the 
centuries should in some way juggle themselves 
together, and the Nineteenth come sweeping 
along with hound and horn before the eyes of 
the Maid? What would she make, I wonder, 
of those two lovely ladies, her of the shoulders 
and her of the silken tresses? What in return 
would they make of the slim rider in battered 
armor, urging her horse to the gallop? They 
would probably give orders to have her ar- 
rested for disturbing the royal sport. 

But how if, instead of these, it might have 
been given her, as part of her reward from 
Heaven, to come upon that other band, in 
armor not wholly unlike her own (seeing that 
our To-day must needs snatch from Yesterday 

234 



COMPIEGNE 

anything and everything that may still avail to 
help) ; that band In brown and blue, who hold 
the line against the onrushing waves of the 
Gray Tide? How then? She scans the Line; 
her keen eyes lighten, then grow bewildered. 
France? Yes; but — England beside her? 
Friends then? Allies? A la bonne heure! 
The word? 

"On ne passe pas/" and the Maid ranges 
herself beside those steadfast figures immova- 
ble; and "They" do not pass. 

Shuttle and Loom to their proper places once 
more; back to May 22nd, 1430 1 

Joan was right. Her little troop was enough, 
for no one molested them, the enemy not hav- 
ing yet reached that neighborhood. They 
came to Complegne about sunrise of May 23rd, 
and once more were joyfully received. 

How Joan spent that last fateful day we 
know not from any chronicle; we may be sure 
that she prayed, and heard mass if mass were 
to hear; we may hope she had some rest, for 
she needed it sorely. We may well believe, 
too, that she listened for her Voices, hoping 
for counsel and — if it might be — cheer; but the 
Voices were silent. She was alone now. 

235 



JOAN OF ARC 

Nevertheless, she said afterward, had the 
heavenly counsellors bidden her go out, saying 
plainly that she would be captured, she would 
still have gone. In another mood, it is true, 
after imprisonment, and with death close upon 
her, she thought that had she known the hour, 
she might have kept her chamber during it ; but 
the first is the true mood, for all who know 
her. 

At five in the afternoon she rode out to at- 
tack the nearest Burgundian outpost, at the 
village of Margny, opposite the bridge-head 
on the northern side of the river. Boldly she 
rode her gray charger, in full armor, wearing 
a surcoat of scarlet and gold, followed by her 
four or five hundred men-at-arms, horse and 
foot. The enemy, taken by surprise, scattered 
in disorder. All might have gone well, had 
not John of Luxembourg, commander of 
Flemings at Clairoix hard by, chosen this 
moment to visit the Burgundian captain in 
charge of Margny. Seeing the skirmish, and 
his brother officer in difficulties, he dashed to 
the rescue, sending back meanwhile to his own 
camp for reinforcements. Another moment 
and the tide had turned. The French were 

236 



COMPIEGNE 

surrounded, set upon, cut down, routed. The 
Maid tried desperately to rally them; cried her 
brave battle cry, waved her shining standard. 
What mortal could do, she did. 

"Beyond the nature of woman,^' says Chas- 
tellain, the Burgundian chronicler, "she did 
great feats, and took great pains to save her 
company from loss, staying behind them like 
SI captain, and like the bravest of the troop.'* 

Twice she charged the men of Luxembourg 
and drove them back. In vain! the hour was 
come. 

She was alone now, save for her brothers, 
d'AuIon, and the faithful few, her bodyguard. 
These could not save her. Round her, like 
hounds about a deer at bay, leaped and shouted 
the Burgundian soldiers, all eager for the rich 
quarry. She was dragged from her horse, 
beaten to earth. D'Aulon and the rest tried 
to help her up, but were overwhelmed by 
numbers and made prisoners, every man of 
them. 

"Yield thee, Pucellel" cried a dozen voices, 
as a dozen brawny hands clutched the slight 
form and held it fast, fast. 

237 



JOAN OF ARC 

Joan raised herself, and looked round on her 
exulting foes, conquered yet unafraid. 

"I have pledged my faith to Another than 
you I" she said. *'To Him I will keep my 
oath." 

So to the will of God she surrendered, who 
had never yielded to man, and laid down at 
His feet her glorious sword. 



CHAPTER XVI 

ROUEN 

"Bishop of Beauvais! because the guilt-burthened man 
is in dreams haunted by the most frightful of his crimes 
. . . you also, entering your final dream, saw Domremy. 
. . . My lord, have you no counsel? 'Counsel I have 
none; in heaven above, or on earth beneath, counsellor 
there is none now that would take a brief from me; all 
are silent.' 

"Is it, indeed, come to this? Alas! the time is short, 
the tumult is wondrous, the crowd stretches away into 
infinity, but yet I will search in it for somebody to take 
your brief ; I know of somebody that will be your counsel. 
Who is this that cometh from Domremy? Who is she 
that cometh in bloody coronation robes from Rheims? 
Who is she that cometh with blackened flesh from walk- 
ing the furnaces of Rouen? This is she, the shepherd 
girl, counsellor that had none for herself, whom I choose, 
Bishop, for yours. She it is, I engage, that shall take 
my lord's brief. She it is. Bishop, that would plead for 
you; yes. Bishop, SHE — ^when heaven and earth are 
silent." 

— De Quincey. 

WE need not dwell upon the joy of English 
and Burgundians, or of their French 
sympathizers: It was as rapturous as It was 
savage. John of Luxembourg, a typical soldier 

239 



JOAN OF ARC 

of fortune, had but one Idea, that of turning his 
prisoner to good account. Who would pay 
most for her? 

While the matter was pending, Joan was 
hurried from castle to castle, from prison to 
prison. Clalrolx, the headquarters of Luxem- 
bourg, was not strong enough to hold her; she 
might escape, or there might be a rescue. She 
was sent to Beaulieu, and thence to Beaurevoir, 
where she stayed from June to September. 
Here she was In the kind hands of three ladies, 
all bearing her own name; Jeanne of Luxem- 
bourg, aunt of her captor; Jeanne of Bethune, 
Viscountess of Meaux, his wife, and her 
daughter Jeanne of Bar. These good ladles 
befriended the captive Maid: gave her the last, 
womanly comfort and tendance she was to re- 
ceive ; begged her to put on woman's dress, and 
brought stuff to make it. Joan was grateful, 
but shook her head. She had no leave yet from 
God to do this: the time was not come. She 
would have done it, she said later, had her duty 
permitted, for these ladles rather than for any 
soul in France except her queen. 

Harmond de Macy, a knight who saw the 
Maid at Beaurevoir and who offered her 

240 



ROUEN 

familiarities which she gravely repulsed, has 
left his Impressions of her on record. 

''She was of honest conversation in word and 
deed," he says: and adds at the end of his tes- 
timony, given after her death, *'I believe she is 
in paradise.'* 

Joan would give no parole. She steadfastly 
maintained her right to escape if she might. 
Here at Beaurevoir she made her one attempt 
to do so, moved thereto largely by anxiety for 
the people of Compiegne, now besieged. She 
was told that if the town were taken all the 
people over seven years of age would be put to 
death. This she could not bear. In vain her 
Voices dissuaded her: in vain St. Catherine 
almost daily forbade it. **I would rather die 
than live,'' said the Maid, ''after such a mas- 
sacre of good people.'' 

Evading her jailers one day, she leapt from 
the tower, a height of sixty feet. Wonderful 
to relate, no bones were broken, but she was 
found insensible, and taken back to prison. For 
several days she could neither eat nor drink. 
Then, she told her judges later, St. Catherine 
comforted her, bidding her make confession and 
ask God's forgiveness for the leap. The saint 

241 



JOAN OF ARC 

told her that Complegne would be relieved be- 
fore Martinmas, as in fact came to pass. 

"Then," she says, "I revived, and took food, 
and soon was well." 

She denied having expected death from the 
leap: she had hoped to escape, partly to help 
Compiegne, partly because she was sold to the 
English. 

"I would rather die," she said, "than fall 
into the hands of my English enemies." 

She was to do both. English and French 
were of one mind. The former were headed 
(in this matter) by the Earl of Warwick, the 
latter by Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. 
This man had been disappointed, through 
Joan's successes, in certain private ambitions. 
He pursued her from first to last with incred- 
ible fury and persistence; it was through his 
efforts that John of Luxembourg was enabled 
to sell her (despite the earnest prayers of the 
aged Jeanne de Luxembourg) to England for 
ten thousand livres; it was he who conducted 
her trial and brought her to her death. 

From Beaurevoir she was taken to Arras; 
thence, after one night at the castle of Drugy, 

242 



ROUEN 

to Crotoy by the sea : and so, in November of 
1430, she came to Rouen. 

They took her to the old castle built by 
Philip Augustus in 1205; used in the days 
of the English occupation as a prison for 
^'prisoners of war and treasonable felons." Of 
this structure, with its six towers, demi-tower 
and donjon, only one vestige remains, the 
*'Tour Jeanne d! Arc^ a bulk of solid masonry 
one hundred feet high, forty feet in diameter, 
with walls twelve feet thick. You may visit 
it to-day; may stand in the dark cell, and see 
the iron cage in which, according to some 
authorities, the Maid was at first confined. 
During most of the time she was chained to a 
log of wood, her fetters loosened only when 
she was taken into court. She was guarded 
day and night by English men-at-arms, most of 
them common and brutal soldiers. She had 
no moment of solitude, no shadow of privacy. 
Her days were anguish, her nights terror; yet 
though her gaolers jeered, bullied, baited her 
with every foul jest and bitter insult, she kept 
the virgin treasure of her soul and of her body. 

One day the Earls of Stafford and Warwick 
came to see her, and with them John of Luxem- 

243 



JOAN OF ARC 

bourg who sold her, and Haimond de Macy. 
The latter tells of the interview, saying that 
Luxembourg offered to ransom her if she would 
swear never to bear arms again. 

"In God's name, you mock mel'' said the 
Maid. "I know well that you have neither 
the will nor the power." 

Luxembourg repeating his offer, she put him 
aside with: "I know these English will put 
me to death, thinking to win the kingdom of 
France when I am no more. But were they 
a hundred thousand more Godons than they 
are, they should not have the kingdom." 

At this Stafford drew his dagger and would 
have stabbed her (she, poor soul, asking no 
better!), but Warwick held his hand. This 
latter noble, son-in-law of Warwick, the king- 
maker, and called by some "the Father of 
Courtesy," was eager for the burning of Joan; 
it was, in his opinion, the only fitting end for 
her. No clean stab of an honorable dagger 
for the witch of the Armagnacs! 

So we come to the Trial, about which so 
many books have been written; over which 
churchmen and statesmen, French and English, 
have wrangled through nigh upon six hundred 

244 



ROUEN 

years. I shall dwell on it so much as seems 
absolutely necessary, and no more. 

On January 9th, 1431, Pierre Cauchon, 
Bishop of Beauvais, master of the blood- 
hounds in this glorious hunt, summoned his 
council. There were two judges, the bishop 
himself and Le Maitre, Vice Inquisitor in the 
diocese of Rouen. The latter, after the first 
month, sat unwillingly; his conscience was not 
clear; he would fain be rid of the whole matter. 
The orders of the Chief Inquisitor, however, 
were strict; he sat on, ill at ease. The rest 
of the Council were clerks and ''assessors" ; all 
clerics of name and fame, canons of Rouen, 
abbots, learned doctors. You may easily learn 
their names, yet methinks they are best for- 
gotten. Their number varied from day to 
day; sometimes there were forty, again there 
would be but six; most of them were French, 
but there were one or two Englishmen among 
them. 

On February 20th, Joan of Arc, known as 
the Maid, was summoned to appear before 
this Council. She begged to be allowed to hear 
mass first, but was refused. On the 21st, she 

24s 



JOAN OF ARC 

was brought before her judges In the chapel 
of the castle. 

We may fancy the scene. Priests and pre- 
lates in goodly array of furred robes, episcopal 
crosses, and the like, sitting in half-circle, with 
bent brows and grim looks. Before their 
scandalized eyes, a slim girl In pagers dress 
of black, her dark hair cut short, her face worn 
with watching and fasting, white with prison 
pallor. 

She is accused of witchcraft, and dealings 
with familiar spirits; of wearing man's clothes 
(see them on the wench this moment!) ; of 
attacking Paris; of attempting suicide; of al- 
lowing ignorant people to worship her as a 
saint or holy person; of stealing a bishop's 
horse; of pretending to work miracles. One or 
two other charges were added In the course of 
the trial to this heavy list. 

To begin with, the prisoner was commanded 
to give a full account of herself and her pre- 
tended mission. Joan was prepared for this. 
The Voices were with her In prison throughout 
the trial, counseling, warning, consoling. 
Sometimes she merely felt the blessed presences 
about her; sometimes they spoke plainly, even 

246 



ROUEN 

dictating her answers; always bidding her 
*'answer boldly and God would help her." 

Called upon to be sworn, she refused to take 
an unqualified oath. She did not know on what 
subjects they might question her. 

"You may ask me things which I will not 
tell you. As to revelations to my King I will 
not speak though you should cut off my head.'* 

She finally took a qualified oath, agreeing to 
speak plainly on such subjects as her conscience 
allowed. She would not repeat the Lord's 
Prayer (a favorite test of witchcraft; a witch, 
as everyone knew, could only say it backward ! ) , 
save in confession; she would in no wise swear 
or promise to refrain from trying to escape; 
she had given no parole, and it was the right 
of every prisoner. She answered readily 
enough the questions concerning her birth, 
parentage, and so on. 

She was interrupted every moment by some 
fresh question or rebuke. The notary 
Manchon, who was reporting the meeting, re- 
fused to act if things were not better ordered; 
he was an honest man, and reported Joan's 
words correctly, which was not the case with 
some other clerks present. 

247 



JOAN OF ARC 

On the second day she came fasting to her 
trial, for it was Lent. She had eaten but once 
the day before. Massleu, the doorkeeper, 
seems to have been, like the notary, a decent 
man, and was wont to let her stop and pray 
on her way from cell to chapel, before the door 
of the chapel. One Estivet, a prison spy 
(mouton), and tool of Cauchon's, rebuked him 
fiercely for this leniency. *'Rascal," he said, 
*'how dare you let that excommunicate wretch 
come so near the church? If you persist, you 
shall be shut up yourself, In a tower where you 
shall not see sun or moon for a month." 

Massieu, according to his own account, paid 
no heed to this threat, but continued to allow 
the Maid to kneel before the closed door of 
the holy place. 

On the third day, after long and puerile 
questionings about the supposititious fairies of 
her childhood and the Voices of her early girl- 
hood, she was asked suddenly, "Do you con- 
sider that you are in a state of grace?" 

Here was a good strong trap, well laid and 
baited. If she answered *'Yes," she was 
guilty of presumption in holy matters; if "No," 
her own mouth spoke her condemnation. 

248 



ROUEN 

Quietly the Maid uttered what her historian 
calls her inspired reply. "If I am not in 
grace, may God bring me thither; if I am, God 
keep me there. "^ 

Considering her steadfast and valiant bear- 
ing throughout these days of trial, we may 
well believe that the God she adored gave her 
strength and constancy. She had no earthly 
friend. The only person who visited her in 
the guise of human kindness was a spy of the 
Inquisition, one Loiseleur, a canon of Chartres 
and Rouen, and a close friend and ally of 
Cauchon. This base wretch, set on by his chief 
and the Earl of Warwick, did visit the Maid 
in her cell, in accordance with a mandate of 
the Inquisition which reads: ''Let no one ap- 
proach the heretic, unless it be from time to 
time two faithful and skilful persons, who 
shall act as if they had pity on him, and shall 
warn him to save himself by confessing his 
errors, promising him, if he does so, that he 
shall not be burned." 

Loiseleur came In layman's dress, telling 
Joan that he was a man of Lorraine, her friend 
and that of France. He was full of interest 

* Translation, A. Lang. 
249 



JOAN OF ARC 

and solicitude. The Voices gave no warning, 
and the lonely girl talked with him far more 
freely than with her judges. He would gently 
lead the subject to some point which was to 
be brought up the next day, and on his report 
the Council would frame its questions. Man- 
chon, the notary, was asked to establish him- 
self in a closet hard by, where he could hear 
and take down the words of the prisoner; 
this, to his lasting honor, he indignantly re- 
fused to do, saying he would report what was 
said in open court and nothing else. 

The days dragged on, and the weeks; weeks 
of prayer, of fasting, of torment. On March 
14th she was interrogated concerning her leap 
from the tower of Beaurevoir. Was it true 
that after her fall she had blasphemed God 
and her saints? 

Not of her consciousness, she replied. "God 
and good confession" knew; she had no knowl- 
edge of what she might have said in delirium. 
St. Catherine had promised her help, how or 
when she knew not. 

^'Generally, the Voices say that I shall be 
delivered through great victory; and further- 
more they say, 'Take all things peacefully; 

250 



ROUEN 

heed not thine affliction. Thence thou shalt 
come at last into the kingdom of Paradise.' " 
The judges took up this question delightedly; 
it was one after their own hearts. Did she, 
they asked, feel assurance of salvation? 

"As firmly as if I were in heaven already.'* 
"Do ycu believe that, after this revelation^ 
you could not sin mortally?" 
"I know not. I leave it to God.*' 
"Your answer (about her assurance of sal- 
vation) is very weighty." 

"I hold it for a very great treasure." 
"What with your attack on Paris on a holy 
day, your behavior in the matter of the 
Bishop's hackney, your leap at Beaurevoir, and 
your consent to the death of Franquet, do you 
really believe that you have wrought no mortal 
sin?" 

"I do not believe that I am in mortal sin; 
and if I have been it is for God to know it, 
and for confession to God and the priest." ^ 

She begged to be allowed to go to church. 
If she might hear mass she would wear 
woman's dress, changing It on her return for 
the page's dress which was her protection 

* Trans., A, Lang. 

251 



JOAN OF ARC 

against Insult. If she must die, she asked for 
a woman's shift, and a cap to cover her head; 
she would rather die than depart from the 
work for which her Lord had sent her. 

"But I do not believe," she added, "that my 
Lord will let me be brought so low that I shall 
lack help of God and miracle." 

"If you dress as you do by God's command,'* 
they asked her, "why do you ask for a shift in 
the hour of death?" 

"It suffices me that it should be long!" said 
the girl. 

All this was but the preliminary inquiry. 
Now followed a week of respite, while the 
evidence was sifted and arranged, and articles 
of indictment drawn up. On March 27th 
Joan was summoned to hear her formal ac- 
cusation, conveyed In seventy articles. The 
Court was asked to declare her "a sorceress, 
a divineress, a false prophet, one who invoked 
evil spirits, a witch, a heretic, an apostate, a 
seditious blasphemer, rejoicing in blood, inde- 
cent," and I know not what else beside. 
These seventy articles were presently con- 
densed into twelve. On April 6th the learned 
doctors were called to deliberate on these 

252 



ROUEN 

twelve, which constituted the real accusation, 
by which the captive must live or die. 

They met in the private chapel of the Arch- 
bishop, which is still standing, in the courtyard 
hard by the cathedral. The articles were duly 
accepted, and the Maid was summoned to hear 
the result. But she lay ill in her prison, worn 
out with fasting and misery. Cauchon himself 
came to visit her, professing himself full of 
tender solicitude for her soul and body. He 
bade her note how kind they were to her. 
They desired only her welfare; the Holy 
Church was ever ready to receive its erring 
children, etc., etc. With her unfailing courtesy 
Joan thanked him. She thought herself in 
danger of death; she begged for confession and 
the sacrament, and burial in holy ground. 

*'If you desire the Holy Sacrament," said 
Cauchon, "you must submit to Holy Church." 

The girl turned her head wearily on her 
pallet. "I can say no more than I have said!" 
was her only word. 

But the Bishop pressed on relentless. The 
more she feared for her life, he told her, the 
more she would resolve to amend it, and sub- 
mit to those above her. Then she said; 

253 



JOAN OF ARC 

"If my body dies In prison I expect from 
you burial in holy ground; if you do not give 
it, I await upon my Lord." And as they still 
tormented her : 

"Come what may, I will do or say no other 
thing. I have answered to everything in my 
trial." 

Five Doctors in turn beset her with offers of 
favors if she would yield, with threats if she 
continued obdurate. In the latter case, they 
told her, she must be treated as a Saracen. 
Finally, since they might in no wise prevail over 
the dauntless soul, though the broken body lay 
helpless before them, they departed, leaving 
her to the tenderer mercies of the men-at-arms. 

The Articles of Accusation had been sent to 
the University of Paris, with a request for 
the opinion of that learned and pious body. 
While waiting for the answer, the Bishop of 
Beauvais filled the time with various ingenious 
devices, all planned to break the glrPs spirit. 
On May 2nd, being In some measure recovered 
from her illness, she was brought out for a 
public meeting before sixty clerics, Cauchon at 
their head. The Bishop addressed her in his 

254 



ROUEN 

customary strain, accusing, exhorting, admon- 
ishing. 

'*Read your book I" (i.e., the document con- 
taining her formal accusation), said Joan 
scornfully. "I will answer as I may. My 
appeal Is to God, my Creator, whom I love 
with my whole heart.'* 

Wearily, wearily she listened to the many- 
times-told tale; briefly and bravely she made 
reply. 

*'If I were now at the judgment seat, and 
if I saw the torch burning, and the fagots laid, 
and the executioner ready to light the fire; if 
I were in the fire, I would say what I have 
said, and no other word; would do what I 
have done, and no other thing." 

*^ Superb a responsioT* writes Manchon the 
clerk opposite this entry. 

Since naught else might prevail against the 
obstinacy of this creature, how if they tried 
torture, or at the very least the threat of 
torture, the actual sight of its Instruments? 

Two days later (May 4th), she was brought 
out again, this time Into a dismal vaulted 
chamber, the donjon of Rouen Castle. The 
usual place of her torment was too small for 

255 



JOAN OF ARC 

the things she now saw displayed before her; 
rack, screws, all the hideous paraphernalia of 
the Holy Inquisition; beside these, two execu- 
tioners, ready to perform their office. 

Joan was bidden to look upon these things, 
and told that if she did not avow the truth her 
body would be submitted to the torture. If 
we stood, as one may still stand, in that vaulted 
chamber, would not the answer ring out once 
more from those grim walls that received it? 

"Truly, if you should destroy my limbs and 
cause my soul to leave my body, I will tell you 
no other thing (than she has already told) ; 
and if I should say anything (i.e., under tor- 
ture), I would always tell you afterward that 
you had made me say it by force." 

She trod, Indeed, the narrow edge of a 
knife-blade. Question upon question was put; 
was answered briefly, clearly, and to the point. 
The clerics hesitated. Perhaps the torture 
might not be necessary, since there seemed a 
chance that even this might not prevail against 
this girl's stubbornness. In any case It would 
be well to leave the fear of It hanging over 
her for a time. 

It was so left, for a week, while the doctors 

256 



ROUEN 

debated. One thought the use of torture might 
"impair the stately beauty of the trial as 
hitherto conducted.'* Another thought they 
had sufficient evidence without it. Three were 
in favor of it: Morelli, Courcelles, Loiseleur. 
The last-named was the Judas-spy who had 
visited her in prison ; he thought torture would 
be salutary for her soul. After all, this par- 
ticular depth of infamy was not sounded; the 
votes for mercy outnumbered those for tor- 
ture. The executioner and his henchmen de- 
parted, the former testifying later that the 
Maid "showed great prudence in her replies, 
so that those who heard were astonished; and 
their deponent retired with his assistant with- 
out touching her." 

Still another week of fetters and darkness, 
of foul air and fouler speech; then came the 
reply from the University of Paris. They re- 
joiced in the "elegance" with which the crime 
of this person had been communicated to 
them. It was clear to their minds that her 
pretended saints were in reality three well- 
known fiends, Satan, Belial, and Behemoth. 
She was treacherous, cruel, bloodthirsty, a 
would-be suicide; a liar, heretic, schismatic and 

257 



JOAN OF ARC 

idolater. Nevertheless, in the opinion of the 
University, it might be well to give her one 
more ''tender admonition." It could do no 
harm; the English were safe to deal with her 
in any case. 

On May 23rd she received the admonition — 
it really seems to have been a kindly one this 
time — from Pierre Maurice, who appealed to 
her sense of honor and duty. 

"What," he asked her, "would you think of 
a knight in your king's land who refused to 
obey your king and his officers? Yet you, a 
daughter of the Church, disobey the officers 
of Christ, the bishops of the Church. Be not 
ashamed of obedience, have no false shame; 
you will have high honor, which you think you 
will lose, if you act as I ask you to do. The 
honor of God and your own life in this world, 
and your salvation in the next, are to be pre- 
ferred before all things." ^ 

Joan made no answer to this appeal, but 
it may have had its effect none the less. 

The next day. May 24th, she was placed in 
a tumbril and brought to the market-place of 
St. Ouen, where a great crowd was assembled; 

* Trans., A. Lang. 

258 



ROUEN 

priests, nobles, soldiers, citizens, all agog to see 
and hear. Would she abjure, or burn? 

It was customary to preach a final sermon 
to a witch before burning her; Erard, the 
preacher, addressed Joan this morning. In the 
course of his speech he spoke of the king as 
a "heretic and schismatic.'' 

*' Speak boldly f' said the holy Voices in the 
ear of the Maid. 

"By my faith," she cried, "full well dare I 
both say and swear that he is the noblest Chris- 
tian of all Christians, and the truest lover of 
the faith and the Church." 

Charles, were I set to devise for you a fitting 
doom, I would have you loiter through some 
dim place of forgotten things — not forever, 
but as near it as Divine Mercy would allow — 
seeing always before you the pale Maid in 
her fetters, hearing always from her lips those 
words of undying trust and love. 

Enough ; the matter was summed up. Here 
was the executioner, here his cart, ready to 
carry her to the stake. Would Joan of Arc 
submit to Holy Church, or would she burn, 
now, in an hour's time? 

You are to remember that this child was not 

259 



JOAN OF ARC 

yet nineteen years of age; that she had been 
in prison, enduring every torment except that 
of actual bodily torture, for a year. To re- 
member, too, that even our Supreme Exemplar 
prayed once that the cup might pass from him. 

''I submit!" said the Maid. 

Instantly a paper was thrust into her hand, 
and she was bidden sign it. Bystanders say 
there was a strange smile on her lips as she 
made her mark, a circle, as we know she could 
not write her name. She was hustled back to 
prison, leaving tumult and uproar behind her. 
The English were furious. They had come to 
see a burning, and there was no burning. 
Warwick made complaint to Cauchon; the 
King of England would be angry at the escape 
of this witch. 

"Be not disturbed, my Lord!" said the 
Bishop of Beauvais. "We shall soon have her 
again." 

Back to prison! not, as she had hoped and 
prayed, to a prison of the Church, where men 
whose profession at least was holy would be 
about her; where possibly she might even sec 
and speak with a woman ; where she might hear 
mass, and make confession. No! back to the 

260 



ROUEN 

old foul, hideous cell, to the brutal jeer and 
fleer of the English men-at-arms. Back, under 
sentence of imprisonment for life. 

Meekly the poor girl went; meekly she put 
off her page's costume, and assumed, as she 
was bidden, a woman's dress. 

On some aspects of the dark days that fol- 
lowed I cannot dwell ; suffice It to say that they 
were the bitterest of all the bitter year; suffice 
it to say that when her judges came to her 
again they found her once more in her page's 
dress, which she refused to give up again until 
the end. 

This was not the only change they found, 
nor the greatest. Back In the cell, the Voices 
had spoken loud and clear in rebuke and re- 
proach. St. Margaret, St. Catherine, both 
were there. Both told her of the great pity 
of that betrayal to which she had consented, 
when she made that abjuration and revocation 
to save her life ; told her that by so doing she 
had condemned herself. 

*'If I were to say" (it is herself speaking 
now) *'that God did not send me I would con- 
demn myself, for true it is that God sent me. 
My Voices have told me since that I greatly 

261 



JOAN OF ARC 

sinned in that deed, In confessing that I had 
done ill. What I said, I said in fear of fire." ^ 

And the clerk wrote against these words, on 
the margin of his notes, *^Responsio Morti" 
feraJ' 

The Maid now clearly and emphatically re- 
voked her submission. What she had said, she 
repeated, was said in dread of fire. 

"Do you believe," asked Cauchon, "that 
your Voices are those of St. Catherine and St. 
Margaret?" 

"Yes!" replied the Maid. "Their voices 
and God's!" 

These words were spoken on May 28th, to 
Cauchon, who had hastened to the prison, 
hearing that Joan had resumed man's apparel. 
Angrily he asked why she had done this. She 
answered that it was more convenient, among 
men, to wear men's dress. She had not under- 
stood that she had sworn never to wear it 
again; if she had broken a pledge in this, one 
had been broken with her, the promise that she 
should be released from fetters, and should 
receive the sacrament. 

"I would rather die," she said, "than remain 

* Trans., A. Lang. 
262 



ROUEN 

in irons. If you will release me, and let me 
go to mass and lie in gentle prison, I will be 
good, and do what the Church desires.'* 

There was only one thing that the Church, 
as represented in the person of Pierre Cauchon, 
desired, and that was the end of her. She had 
*'relapsed"; it was enough. He hurried joy- 
fully away, passing In the courtyard Warwick 
and his men, who were waiting for news. 

"Farewell!'* cried the Bishop of Beauvais. 
'*Be of good cheer, for it is done." 

He summoned his Council In haste; they 
were all of his mind. Holy Church could have 
no further dealings with this impious and 
hardened prisoner. She must be given over to 
the secular arm, ''with the prayer that there 
be no shedding of blood." Most sinister of all 
speakable words! At the stake, no need of 
blood-shedding. 

Early in the morning of May 29th Martin 
Ladvenu and Jean Toutmouille came to the 
prison. The latter told the Maid briefly that 
she was to be burned. She wept, poor child, 
and cried out piteously. 

"Alas!" she said. "Will they treat me so 
horribly and cruelly, that my pure and uncor- 

263 



JOAN OF ARC 

rupted body {'^corps net et entier, qui ne fut 
jamais corrompu^') must to-day be burned to 
ashes?*' 

She would rather, she cried in her agony, 
be seven times beheaded than burn. 

"I appeal to God, the supreme Judge, 
against the wrongs that have been done me." 

At this moment Cauchon entered the prison. 
He must see with his own eyes how his victim 
received her condemnation. She turned upon 
him, and uttered the words which, wherever 
his name is spoken, whenever his image is con- 
jured up, are written in flame upon his fore- 
head: 

^^Bishop of Beauvais, it is through you I die, 
I summon you before your God and mine/'* 

Presently she composed herself; made con- 
fession to one of the monks, and asked for the 
Sacrament. After some haggling among her 
persecutors the elements were brought to her, 
albeit in slovenly fashion, bare of the priestly 
pomp which was their due. 

So we come to the 30th day of May, of the 
year 1431. At nine in the morning Joan left 
her prison for the last time. She was in 
woman's dress. Over her shoulders was the 

264 



ROUEN 

long black robe of the Inquisition, on her head 
a paper cap or mitre, bearing the words: 
"Heretic, Relapsed, Apostate, Idolater." As 
the cart in which she stood rumbled through 
the streets, the Maid of France lifted up her 
voice and wept over the city of her death. 

** Rouen, Rouen, mourrai-je igif Seras-tu 
ma maisonf Ah, Rouen, fat grand peur que 
tu n^aies a soufrir de ma mort!* * 

Hearing these words, the people around her, 
even the English soldiers, wept for pity. It 
is recorded that as the tumbril jolted its way 
over the stones, a man in priest's dress was 
seen pressing through the crowd, trying des- 
perately to force a way to the cart. It was 
Loiseleur, the spy, come in an agony of re- 
pentance, to fling himself before the saint he 
had helped to condemn and implore her 
pardon. The soldiers repulsed him brutally; 
would have slain him but for Warwick's in- 
tervention. The crowd closed over him. 

There were three scaffolds in Rouen Old 
Market that morning of May. On one of 

* Rouen, Roaen, shall I die here? Shalt thou be »y 
(last) home? Ah, Rouen, I have great fear thou most 
suffer for my death. 

265 



JOAN OF ARC 

them the Maid was set to hear her last sermon 
preached by Nicholas Midi, of Rouen and 
Paris; on another sat judges and spectators, a 
goodly company; Cardinal Beaufort, Warwick, 
the ^'Father of Courtesy," Cauchon and all his 
priestly bloodhounds, who yet could not see 
blood shed. 

The third scaffold was a heap of plaster, 
piled high with fagots, from which rose the 
stake. It bore the legend : "Jeanne, self-styled 
the Maid, liar, mischief-maker, abuser of the 
people, diviner, superstitious, blasphemer of 
God, presumptuous, false to the faith of Christ, 
boaster, idolater, cruel, dissolute, an invoker 
of devils, apostate, schismatic, heretic." 

Nicholas Midi was long in speaking, and the 
English waxed impatient. Dinner time was 
near. 

"How now, priest? Are you going to make 
us dine here?" some of them cried. 

Cauchon read the sentence. 

"Then she invoked the blessed Trinity, the 
glorious Virgin Mary, and all the blessed saints 
of Paradise. She begged right humbly also the 
forgiveness of all sorts and conditions of men, 
both of her own party and of her enemies; 

266 



ROUEN 

asking for their prayers, forgiving them the 
evil that they had done her." ^ 

The Bailiff of Rouen waved his hand, saying 
*'Away with her." '■ 

Quietly, patiently, the Maid climbed the 
third scaffold. She was well used to climbing; 
witness the walls of Les Tourelles, of Jargeau 
and Compiegne. Beside her climbed her con- 
fessor, Martin Ladvenu, and some say another 
Dominican, Isambart de la Pierre, who had 
been kind to her throughout. She begged for 
a cross; an English soldier hastily bound two 
sticks together cross-fashion and handed her 
the emblem. She kissed it devoutly, and thrust 
it in her bosom. Then, at her urgent prayer, 
they brought a crucifix from a church hard by; 
this she long embraced, holding it while they 
chained her to the stake. 

When the flames began to mount, she bade 
the friar leave her, but begged him to hold 
aloft the crucifix, that her eyes might rest on 
it to the last. This man testified that from 
the heart of the fire, she called steadfastly on 
her Saints, Catherine, Margaret, Michael, as if 

* Trans., A. Lang. 
267 



JOAN OF ARC 

they were once more about her as in the garden 
of Domremy. 

"To the end she maintained that her Voices 
were from God, and all she had done was by 
God's counsel; nor did she believe that her 
Voices had deceived her." 

At the last she gave one great cry: "Jesus!" 
and spoke no more. 

Have you felt the touch of fire? Put your 
finger in the candle flame for a moment! 
Then, for another moment — not more, since 
that way madness lies — think of that white, 
tender body of the Maid of France flaming 
like a torch to Heaven! 

A torch indeed. Fiercely its blaze beats 
upon Rouen Old Market, throwing a dreadful 
light on those watching faces. Pierre de 
Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, on your face it 
glares most fiercely; on yours, Henry Beaufort, 
Cardinal of Winchester; Earl of Warwick, on 
yours. I think you will see that light while 
you live, however dark the night around you. 
I know that by it alone we see your faces 
to-day. 

A torch, Indeed. Its flame brightens the 
sacred fields of France, now In the hour of Vic- 

268 



ROUEN 

tory, when light has triumphed over darkness, 
as it brightened them in the hour of her agony, 
though God alone saw that radiance. In the 
white fire of that torch were fused all inco- 
herent elements, all that turned the sword of 
brother against brother. Frenchman against 
Frenchman. From that white fire sprang, into 
enduring life and glory, France Imperishable. 

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